Best Left to Cupid
by Cardio Necrosis
Summary: Harry and Ron are tired of Snape being a git. So they come up with the brilliant conclusion that he wouldn't be if he had a girlfriend, and decide to play matchmaker. There's a problem, though. Who would ever go out with their snarky Potions master?
1. The Git

**Disclaimor: I am definitely not JK Rowling. If I were, I would not have a lousy dial-up connection, nor would I be poor.**

Best Left to Cupid

Chapter 1: The Git

It was a warm, slightly breezy, day, when Ron Weasley, having spent much too long on a Potions essay--an essay which resulted in many insults directed at the professor who assigned it--finally blurted; "Bloody hell, does the git always have to assign us essays? Unlike him, some of us _have_ a life!"

Hermione gave him a stern look, her lips pursed slightly. "Ron, he isn't a _git_ he simply _appreciates_ it if we understand the complexities of the class he teaches."

"Yeah, him and half the other professors in this school. Honestly, do they _have_ to assign us all so much work at the same bloody time?" he whined, staring down at the parchment that had inky, black words scribbled across it, most of it complete bullocks he'd pulled out of thin air.

Hermione glanced over the essay quickly, her lips pursing further as she neared the end of what he had written. "Well, that certainly isn't going to impress him, is it? Ron, did you even read the assigned text?"

"As if I don't have a million other things on my mind, Hermione," he grumbled, tossing his somewhat-shaggy red hair from his blue eyes. He folded his arms petulantly over his chest and leaned back against his chair, glaring at the essay as if it had verbally assaulted him.

"Yeah, we've got to practice Quidditch, not to mention how much homework our other professors have given us," Harry interjected, also working on Snape's essay, his dark eyebrows furrowed with concentration. "We've got loads to worry about, Hermione."

"Well, you'll just have to fit in more homework time in with your Quidditch schedule, won't you? Honestly, you two are lucky Professor Snape is even continuing to teach you. As I recall, neither of you got an O on your Potions OWL."

"As I recall, he wasn't too happy about it, either," Harry retaliated, turning a green glare towards Hermione.

"He was probably upset because McGonagall wouldn't let him carry on with Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Can you blame her, Ron?" Harry pointed out darkly.

Ron shrugged, feeling a little uncomfortable as the subject of Dumbledore had been brought up. "I guess not. I'm surprised she even let him come back. I mean, it's not every day you re-hire teachers who kill off previous headmasters, is it?"

"That's uncalled for, both of you. After all he did in the war, you two could show a little sympathy. Especially you, Harry," she said, giving him a reproachful glare.

Harry scowled a little, then returned back to his essay. "He's still a git," he informed, although in a quieter tone.

"He saved your life," she reminded, leaning forward, her brown eyes pleading.

Harry was suddenly quiet, and he dipped his quill into his ink well, then continued to write his essay.

"Still, he doesn't have to assign us so much work. It's only the first week," Ron said, still glaring at the essay evilly.

"This is our seventh year. Obviously it's going to be tougher than normal. We have our NEWTs to look forward too."

Ron's head reeled slightly, as if struck by a brilliant idea. "Harry, wait, couldn't you get the Prince's book, and use it this year too? It would help loads." There was a moment of silence, where Harry looked upward thoughtfully, as if seriously considering the idea, and Hermione stayed silent. After a few moments, Ron turn to Hermione expectantly. "Aren't you going to tell us off for cheating?"

She turned towards him. "Of course not. It isn't cheating in _his_ class, is it?" Ron blinked a few times, and Harry glanced at her. Well, she certainly did have a point there. "I don't see why you would need it, though. It's going to be the _Prince's_ instructions up on the board in the first place. Honestly, Harry, why didn't you do so well the first five years you took his class?"

Seeing as he didn't have an answer to that, he decided to ignore her question, and answer Ron's instead. "Yeah, well, I think he'd notice me propping his book open on the worktable anyway. But it might help with these essays, though."

Hermione let out a small sigh, then stood up from beside them. "Well, I'd best be going."

"Oh, right, speak of the devil," Ron grumbled, scowling slightly. "Hermione, I don't see why you want to spend even _more_ time with him than we already have to."

"Well, that's because _some_ of us find that particular branch of magic fascinating. I don't complain about either of you wanting to be Aurors, do I?" Neither of them could prove her wrong, and so they remained quiet, and she smiled smugly. "Yes, well, I'll see the two of you later."

With that, she left the common room, with Ron staring after her, a small, soft smile on his face. His content expression did not go unnoticed by Harry. "You ever going to ask her out?" he asked finally, after leaving Ron to stare at the portrait wistfully for a few moments.

Ron shrugged, then looked away. "I don't know."

"Well you can't hold out for her forever. Having a girlfriend could cheer things up a bit," Harry pointed out, the scratching of his quill halting for a moment as he dipped it into ink some more.

"It's not having a girlfriend that I'm afraid of. What if she says no? What if I blew the whole thing 'cause of Lavender? I was so stupid," he muttered in regret.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, Ron, she'd probably say yes anyway. Do what you like, though. I'm just saying it might cheer things up. I think you'd be a lot happier, too."

"Of course I would. No one likes being lonely. I just wish I hadn't been such a git." Harry didn't say anything to prove Ron wrong; he had been a git to Hermione last year, so there wasn't anything he could say, even if he had wanted to. "You think she'll forgive me?" Ron asked a bit tentatively.

Harry was busy trying to write his essay, and that made him a little bit irritated. To be honest, Harry wasn't exactly very gifted when it came to relationships. It wasn't like he had an amazing track record. Cho couldn't be alone with him longer than five minutes without bursting into tears, not to mention the whole Yule Ball fiasco with Parvati. And of course, the only real relationship he could have seen going anywhere was with Ginny, and he'd ended that. Whether or not he would be able to repair that, he didn't know. He sure hoped he could. But as for Hermione? Well, Harry had no idea as to whether she would forgive Ron or not. He didn't see why she wouldn't. Still, though, if he wanted to become an Auror, he was going to have to pass Snape's class, and he wasn't going to ruin that, being in his final year, despite the fact it seemed Snape was trying his hardest to make Harry fail his class with this one damn essay.

"Harry?" Ron urged, wanting an opinion to his question.

He tossed his quill down and turned to Ron, glaring at him. "I don't know, Ron, all right?" he snapped, his voice raised. Ron looked slightly taken aback at his tone.

Ron shifted uncomfortably for a moment. "You didn't need to shout," he grumbled petulantly, clearing his throat.

"Not to be rude or anything, but I'm just trying to get this essay done." Ron nodded and Harry turned back to his essay, letting out a sharp breath, picking up his quill, and looking over what he'd written.

He noticed Ron was trying to continue writing his essay as well, but Harry sensed the he kept giving him awkward glances, as if expecting him to say something else. Harry felt a bit guilty for snapping at his best friend, and he felt even more irritated when he saw how far he was from finishing his essay. "Why does Snape have to do this? I mean, eighteen inches? On the first week? I don't even have seven inches," he aired irritably.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, although a bit sullenly. "Maybe if _he_ had a girlfriend, he wouldn't be such a git."

Harry let out a breathy, humourless laugh, nodding as he grimaced.

There was a moment of silence. Then:

"Ron, I've just had a spectacular idea."

* * *

Hermione stood in front of Professor's Snape's office, holding onto her piece of parchment, glancing over it to make sure that everything that had to be mentioned had be written in. She wasn't going to lie--she was quite nervous. The two of them hadn't even spoken to each other, not since the war. In fact, they had never really talked to begin with. It wasn't as if they have tea together every Tuesday. No, in fact, he had never shown her any reason for her to believe he even liked her somewhat. To him, she was nothing but a book-reciting, know-it-all Gryffindor who palled around with the Boy Who Lived Who Snape Obviously Hated. Of course, it made sense to her why he despised book verbatim now--he had, after all, written his own instructions in his text book; ones that (she regretted to admit) were better.

However, Hermione was not going to let him intimidate her. No, she was going to be brave. She was no coward--she had fought in the final battle after all. No, if anything, she had proven that. So, she was just going to take in a deep breath, go in there, and demand that he pay attention to her. She was going to show _him_ she wasn't afraid of anybody, not even dour Potions professors who were slightly intimidating.

All right, _very_ intimidating.

Brushing her bushy, curly hair out of her eyes, she took in a deep breath and knocked on the door, standing up straight.

"Enter," came his voice from within.

She held her chin high and walked into the classroom bravely. This was her chance. She was not afraid.

"Professor Snape," she greeted as she shut the door behind her, and started over to his desk.

He looked up at her, his black eyes appraising her, his thin mouth curled into a sneer. "Miss Granger," he greeted, sounding anything but enthusiastic or happy to see her.

"Professor, I was wondering if, perhaps, you were in need of a Potions assistant?" she asked, smiling briefly and politely at him.

"I have not yet had a need for one, nor will I ever. Good day, Miss Granger," he said plainly, dipping his quill into ink and marking what appeared to be first year essays.

She stood there, losing just a touch of her nerve. _No,_ she thought, _you must stand your ground. _She hadn't expected anything different from him. It wasn't as though she thought he was going to welcome her with open arms. She glanced down at her parchment again. "Professor--" she started.

"_Good day,_ Miss Granger," he repeated a bit more firmly, never removing his eyes from the essays he corrected.

"Professor, I would like very much to further my knowledge in the subject of Potions," she stated just as firmly, making sure to keep her back straight, her chin up, and her courage strong.

"And I am quite certain there are programs for that purpose that do not involve wasting my time." He still did not look up from his essays, and continued correcting them as if he had said nothing.

Hermione stood there, mouth working barely, no sound coming out. After a few second of her left completely speechless, she took in a deep breath. "Professor, I--"

He looked at her, his dark eyes glinting. "Are you incapable of following even the simplest of instructions? Perhaps I should make myself more clear. Get. Out."

"But, I have--"

"Did you not hear me?"

"Professor McGonagall says you have to," she finally blurted, knowing that she was not going to be able to convince him otherwise, although she had very much wanted to. She hadn't wanted to make him feel forced.

He glared at her, and she felt intimidated, despite her best efforts not to be.

"I have asked her, since she is the headmistress and my former head of house, if I could possibly be your assistant--if she would allow it. She agrees that it would be very helpful, and I promised her that I would not get behind on my studies, and I would not hinder you in any way, _and_ that I was certain I could handle anything you asked of me, anything advanced, and she thought that it would be best for you to have extra help, after . . . the stress of the war."

She was aware of the fact he was glaring malevolently at her, as if she had just told him she'd killed his pet cat.

The parchment was magically ripped from her grasp when he flicked his wand. He took it from the air and read through it. McGonagall had explained the terms under which Hermione would work as his assistant, and that she was ordering him to allow her, claiming that he had no need to continue his reclusive behaviour, as he was no longer a spy, and therefore he no longer needed to worry about exposing himself. Hermione had not wanted to resort to that.

"You believe this?" he asked icily, lip up in a scowl. Hermione nodded--it made sense as to why McGonagall would want him to have an assistant. "How unbelievably naïve you are. She does not want you down here to keep me company, but because she does not trust me."

"Professor, if that were the case, she would have ordered me to become your assistant, and I asked specifically for--"

"Why would you want to be _my_ assistant, Miss Granger?" he interrupted with a sneer. "There are programs specifically for the advancement of education _after_ Hogwarts; those who would be ecstatic to have you; those who thrive on insufferable know-it-alls. Unless I am to believe you are purposely trying to monopolize my time and irritate me?"

"No, no, of course not, sir, I--I simply thought that if I had furthered my education before leaving Hogwarts, that I could move onto more advanced levels afterward sooner, and Professor, it would not hurt to have been taught by a war hero, and--"

"War hero?" he repeated, as if the word left a bad taste in his mouth. She nodded emphatically. It only seemed to infuriate him further. He thrust the parchment into her hand. "You are to go to Headmistress McGonagall and tell her you've changed your mind."

"No, I am not," she said firmly, although her palms were sweaty and her heart was beating rapidly in her chest. "I value my education and--and I have thought hard about this, and I want to be taught by you, sir."

He stared at her, incredulously, hardly daring to believe she had directly disobeyed him. She couldn't believe it herself, but she wanted this so badly, she would not back down from it.

After what seemed like a long while, he arched a dark eyebrow and scowled. "Very well, Miss Granger. You wish to be my _assistant?_ Then you will return here Monday evening, at eight pm, sharp. I will not tolerate tardiness. If you are not there at the specified time you will personally tell Headmistress McGonagall that you are not worthy of such a task, do you understand?"

She nodded eagerly. "Of course, Professor, I will be on time."

"Leave," he ordered coldly, moving his eyes from her to the essays once more.

She, quite happily, obliged.

The whole way back to Gryffindor tower, she was breathless. She had no idea as to why she felt breathless, because she most certainly had _not _been intimidated; had most certainly _not_ been frightened. All right, so perhaps she was a little.

It wasn't that he frightened her in the way Voldemort had, or Lucius had--no, she knew Professor Snape would never physically harm her. It wasn't the type of fear she got when having a wand pointed at her, a Death Eater bearing her down, shooting hexes. In that situation, she knew how to act. She knew she had to hex back--protect herself, as it were.

No, her fear of professor Snape came from her not knowing how to act around him. He could disarm her with his words a simply as he could with his spells. Hermione, who was told quite often she was the brightest witch of her age, simply could never find the words to prove it when around him. One would think that someone as clever as she was would have been able to think of stinging barbs to rival his, or at least an adequate persuasion so she wouldn't have to resort official parchments from the headmistress. Alas, she could not. No amount of books or cleverness could make her _witty._

Of course, it wasn't that he insulted her constantly. She wasn't Harry Potter. No, but she could feel it in the way he looked at her, in the way he brushed past her, in the way he barely glanced at the potions she had brewed when he had first taught Potions, never saying a word simply because he could not find anything to criticize, or in the way he disregarded her raised hand with a sneer. Severus Snape did not like Hermione Granger, nor did he find her intelligent. No, he simply thought she was a dunderhead, despite her efforts to prove him wrong from her very first class with him. It wasn't that she cared about his opinion any more than any other of her professors' opinions--it was just that she hated failing, hated being seen as less-than-adequate when it came to intelligence, and it was all too apparent that according to him, she was.

And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

So why--_why_--had she _insisted_ on being taught advanced material by Professor Snape by being his assistant? Why had she not waited until after Hogwarts and gone to the programs that even he had suggested to her? The answer to that was simple, as it relied on his obvious abhorrence of her.

If she had gone to anybody else, she would have gotten preferential treatment. That she knew. She got that sort of preferential treatment from all of her Professors--she had, ever since they'd come to realize what a bright witch she was. Of course, it probably didn't help that she was friends with the famous Harry Potter, either. Now, after the war, after everybody knew just how important she was in it, now that she was considered a war hero, she doubted that she would be favoured any less. No, of course, she would be treated better--and perhaps certain criticisms that were needed in order to perfect her ability, certain observations that may seem unkind, or harsh, may go unnoticed. Hermione knew the disastrous results of even the slightest mishap in brewing a potion--she _had_ sat beside Neville Longbottom for five years, hadn't she?

But Professor Snape, who she knew would obviously not favour her, would not forget to point out these errors. Criticism was vital. It wasn't that Hermione _wanted_ to have criticisms. No, criticisms meant she had fouled something up. But, if there was a need for a criticism, she would definitely want to hear it, so that she would not make that mistake again--or so that she could at least perfect it. There were a few times that a few of her other professors had forgot to point out a misplaced comma, and she had found it afterwards. But Professor Snape had never missed a single criticism on any of her assignments or otherwise.

In fact, she was positive it was his criticisms when he taught Defence Against the Dark Arts that had saved her. Of course, she had been a quick learner in that class, advancing further than anyone else. Had he not pointed out every single time she moved her wrist improperly, or she had put too much of a stress on the wrong syllable--

Well, she wasn't Harry Potter, was she? She didn't have the luck, nor strength, to be an amazing spell-warrior. No, she had books and cleverness, and knowledge, and memorization. Had he not pointed out her faults, she was sure that she would not be here.

So, technically, it was the reason that she was so intimidated by him that she'd insisted on being his assistant. Hopefully he wouldn't insult her too much, because if there was something she wasn't good at, it was witty comebacks. Answering questions were simple, because that meant she could study for hours on the appropriate response. Any question worth asking could be studied on beforehand, so that answer was already there. But an insult? One could not anticipate that, nor could one study what to say towards it. There were a few times when she'd been angry at her situation, of course, angry enough to _react._ She would not forget the time she slapped Draco Malfoy, nor would she soon forget sending those crazed birds after Ron. But those were not witty insults. No, that was simply the reaction of too much stress finally erupting in physical ways.

"Conniption," Hermione said to the Fat Lady.

The portrait opened, and there she saw Ron and Harry, heads bowed close together, conspiring about something, and she wondered if perhaps she could pretend to have not seen them since she knew that if they were planning on some rule breaking they would undoubtedly want her to join and she would, of course, deny. She was Head Girl, after all, and she expected better behaviour from her friends--considering Harry was Head Boy, not surprisingly. However, she wondered if Professor McGonagall had been in her right state of mind, appointing Harry as Head Boy, when he was also the Quidditch captain. Obviously that would make his schedule rather full. She went to move past them, act as if she had not seen them, hoping she had not seen her, when--

"Oi! Hermione!"

* * *

A/N--reviews are much appreciated. Constructive criticism is also appreciated.


	2. The Plan

Chapter 2: The Plan

Hermione let out a sharp sigh, then walked over towards them, sitting beside them. "Are you two finished with your essays?" she asked, already knowing the answer by glancing at their essays as she spoke. They had only added a few sentences, if that.

"No, but we've come up with something better than essays," Ron said, his blue eyes alight with something that could only be described as glee. "Of course, it's hard, and I doubt it'll work, but it's brilliant."

"What is it?" she asked warily.

"Well, you see, we got to thinking--Snape is heartless and cruel and miserable. But maybe it's because he's lonely. I'd be a bit of a prat too if I didn't have any friends. Granted, he probably doesn't have any friends _because _he's a prat, but maybe he's a prat because he doesn't have friends, which makes him act like a prat, and makes no one want to be friends with him, so it's a bit of a circle, see, so now he's just always a prat--"

"We get it, Ron," Harry interrupted.

Ron cleared his throat, and leaned forward, as if what he was about to tell Hermione had to remain a secret--as if they were discussing something dangerous. "Well, we thought that maybe if Snape had a girlfriend, he'd be less of a git, and he might be a bit nicer. Maybe the reason he's always mean to us and gives us bad grades and hard assignments is because he _doesn't_ have a life and he likes making others miserable, and so maybe a girlfriend would make him less miserable, and we'd get better grades."

Hermione blinked at him. Surely this couldn't be what they had been discussing the entire time she'd been gone? She glanced at Harry, and he gave her a few encouraging nods, his green eyes alight, just as Ron's blue eyes were.

"You two cannot possibly be serious?" she asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"What do you mean?" Harry inquired.

"Well--it's just--" she spluttered. For some reason, Harry and Ron playing matchmaker seemed so ridiculous, not to mention the fact they were planning on trying to play matchmaker with Snape, just so he would be nicer on his essays--although she seriously doubted it. "Have you two been reading Ginny's romance novels?"

Ron looked absolutely disgusted. "What? Ginny's _what_ novels?"

"I doubt Professor Snape is a broken man looking for redemption through true love," she pointed out, having been forcibly reminded of a romance novel she had tried reading. Of course, the hero reminded her too much of Professor Snape, and the heroine seemed too perfect for it to be realistic. Almost every romance novel seemed that way to her, anyhow. "Honestly, do you expect him to just swoon and start handing out lollies because he suddenly has a girlfriend? The thought is utterly ridiculous! And I'm sure if he really wanted to be _with_ someone, he'd be more than capable of finding someone himself, and I doubt he would be very interested in the two of you trying to . . . pair him up with someone."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "'Broken man looking for redemption through true love?'" Harry repeated slowly, as if the phrase made him slightly ill.

"Hermione, have you seen the man lately?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, _Ron,_ I just got back from speaking with him, as you may recall," she reminded a bit harshly. "I don't see how that has anything to do with what I just said."

Ron shrugged and rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Come on, Hermione. 'If he really wanted to be with someone, he'd be more than capable of finding someone himself' and you expect me _not_ to say something? He's gonna need all the help he can get," he murmured.

"But still, Ron, I doubt that he'll really _allow_ the two of you--"

"But that's the beauty of it!" Ron said, his eyes wide. "He wouldn't know it was us. We'd make it look like he was choosing her, of course, I don't know how, but we'd figure out a way, I'm sure--"

"How very Slytherin of you two," she remarked with her lips pursed. She was starting to worry about their mental stability.

"Slytherin?" Ron repeated incredulously, highly offended, as if she had insulted him.

"Well, you can hardly call it anything _but_ manipulative--you certainly aren't trying to get him together with someone to make him happy or for any other noble purpose are you? You just don't want to do your essays."

"This is entirely noble. We're doing it for everyone else, too," Harry pointed out, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the rest of the students in the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione let out a little breath and shook her head.

"The problem is finding someone who'll actually go out with the miserable git," Ron informed with a sigh, as if it was some terrible burden that he had placed on his shoulders. "I mean, what girl's going to be interested in _him?"_

"Exactly," Harry said, grimacing slightly. "I don't think very many girls would be interested in him, so that's going to take some work too. I mean, well, not that I'm gay or anything, but . . . well, he's not much to look at."

Hermione pursed her lips, bristling somewhat. "Looks aren't necessarily the most important trait one should look for Harry," she spat a little angrily. Hermione had many talents, and she was confident in a few things--namely, her intelligence. But when it came to her own physical appearance? Well, she wasn't exactly the most attractive girl at Hogwarts, was she? So perhaps it wasn't something she focused on so much, perhaps if she tried a bit more, got up earlier in the morning to comb Straightening Gel through her hair, like she had at the Yule Ball, or maybe put some makeup on . . . But really, why should one focus so much on appearances more than personality? It just seemed odd that out of the many things Harry could have attacked about Snape, he would choose his physical appearance first. He could have said capricious, or cruel, but instead, his looks.

"Well, we're trying to think like a girl,," Ron stated. Hermione's mouth dropped in indignation. "You don't count, Hermione, you're not like a girl." Judging by the look on his face, he'd thought he'd paid her a rather nice compliment.

"Which I suppose explains why it took you so long to notice!" she snapped.

Ron's face fell, and he immediately backtracked, Harry casually turning away to 'work' on his essay, although it was obvious he was just trying to get out of this argument. "I meant it in a good way! Honestly! I meant, you're not like a _girl-_girl, but more like a _boy_-girl, like a hermaphrodite, but without the, er, awkward bits."

"I believe the word you're looking for is androgynous," she corrected a bit reproachfully, trying to pat down her bushy hair, for some reason more aware of its wildness than usual.

Ron frowned, apparently having no idea what she was saying. "Right, that. What I'm saying is, a lot of girls--not you--are a bit shallow, you know, like Fleur. So we've got to find a girl who might be into the whole ugly thing--big nose, greasy hair--obvious hygiene problems; don't imagine he smells very good either, what, for not bathing, and all those potions ingredients--and then we got to think of someone who might like his personality. I mean, we want them together for awhile, you know, keep him pleasant, keep the essays easy. Not just some quick fumble in a broom closet. Which is not as fun as it sounds, you know, especially when--" He broke off at Hermione's glare, figuring that reminiscing about Lavender would not win her over.

"Well, perhaps you need to think more on his better qualities and try to focus on them. I doubt any girl goes into a relationship thinking 'oh, I hope he's an insensitive prat who goes on and on about his previous fumbling in a broom closet' now is it?" She folded her arms across her chest and pursed her lips indignantly. The comment was obviously directed at Ron and not at Snape.

Of course, Ron missed that entirely. "Oi, you're right. What _are_ his good traits? He must have some, right? He's not Voldemort," he answered the slight nervous waver on Voldemort's name still showing that Ron was having a hard time breaking the habit of not saying that name.

Harry finally discerned that it was all right for him to join the conversation again, and turned towards them, pushing the glasses on the bridge of his nose in a more comfortable position. "Well, he saved my life. That might help him a bit. Just tell a girl that he saved me, and then she might be interested," he said with a shrug, as if it were that simple.

"Well that's just a stupid reason to go out with anybody, and Professor Snape wouldn't want to have a girlfriend more interested in your well-being than his anyway. How would you feel if the only reason Ginny went out with you was because you saved Draco Malfoy?"

Harry opened his mouth to protest, then he let out a small sigh. "Well, I'd think she had a thing for Malfoy. But Ginny and I aren't even going out, so that hardly even has a reason to be in this discussion." He glanced at Ron, as if waiting for him to say something, but either Ron feigned ignorance very well, or he really didn't care about Harry talking about Ginny or going out with her.

"You're a girl," Ron stated, looking at Hermione as if she had suddenly begun to glow with a heavenly light that encompassed all.

"We've been through this."

"Well, yeah, but--but you--you could tell us what's romantic about Snape! Yeah, why would a girl want to go out with him?"

Hermione felt very nervous indeed, as if a large, hot spotlight had suddenly been shined upon her. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. It wasn't like she had ever really thought about Professor Snape before. He was nothing more to her than a teacher, and a biased, cruel one at that. She wouldn't go so far as to say fancying a professor was beneath her--she had liked Professor Lockhart, after all--but, well . . . it was Professor Snape.

But she didn't _hate_ him. She respected him, at least. So, what was it about him that she didn't hate? Because she was capable of hating a teacher. She had hated Umbridge, obviously. She had disliked "Moody" as a teacher, and, well, Slughorn really hadn't made it on her likeable teachers list. He hadn't been that great of a teacher, and she felt no disappointment in him retiring. So yes, she did like Professor Snape more than some of her other professors. The question was why, though? Because Umbridge had been completely horrid and pathetic as a teacher, and Moody had been frightening and she didn't necessarily approve of his unorthodox methods, and, well, Slughorn was just a horrid teacher who only assigned--

Book work. And what was Hermione? Someone who thrived on book work. The insufferable know-it-all book reciting--

But certainly Slughorn was to blame for her less-than-perfect brewing.

So he wasn't her most hated professor, simply by default. But she had never hated him, even before Umbridge, no, she had always respected him, so there must be . . .

"Hermione?" Harry urged.

She bit her lip in thought and furrowed her eyebrows. There _must_ be something; she had _insisted_ to be his assistant, but that was only because she knew he would offer her no preferential treatment and be completely honest . . .

"Oh!" she said aloud, finally thinking of something. "He's honest. Blunt, if you will. Girls like honesty."

Ron scoffed and she gave him a look, as if daring him to prove her wrong. "What? Girls don't like honesty. 'Do I look fat in these robes? Is puce my colour?'" he whined in an imitation of a girl, pretending to look dazed. "No, puce is _not_ your colour, I don't even know what puce _is_, it makes you look all sick and pale and like you're about to drop dead 'cause it makes your eyes all baggy looking and lips all washed out, and yeah, guess what? That robe _does_ make you look fat 'cause it constricts around your belly."

Hermione pursed her lips. It was obvious he was speaking about Lavender again. "Write it down, Ron."

"Write what down?"

"Professor's Snape's good qualities!"

"No, you write 'em down, you're the one thinking of them."

She let out a sigh, then grabbed a piece of parchment from her bag, grabbed her quill, leaned over and dipped her quill in Harry's ink well, and wrote 'Professor Severus Snape' on the top of it, then underneath that, she wrote 'good qualities', and wrote 'honesty' underneath it.

Harry and Ron shrugged, but it was obvious that they disagreed with Hermione's decision. She nibbled on the end of her quill, thinking of Professor Snape a bit more. "Well, he's certainly brave, being a spy for as long as he was." She wrote 'brave' down. "And he's intelligent, as well." She wrote that down.

"So, brave, honest, intelligent . . . that's it?" Ron said, looking at how her quill was poised above the parchment.

"Well, it's not like I've thought about him romantically before, have I? He's a professor!" Then she looked own at her hand and at the parchment as if she just realized what she was doing. "And why am I helping you anyway? I do _not_ want to participate!"

"Come on, Hermione," Ron urged, nudging her with his elbow, smiling pleadingly at her. "Just think about him romantically for us, just for a bit."

She scoffed. "I most certainly will not."

Harry looked between them, furrowed his eyebrows at Hermione, then he got a sly smile on his face before he leaned forward. "Hermione, look, after all he did for the war--for me, actually, too, he saved me--and everybody thinking he was, you know, evil--even you--don't you think he deserves a little happiness?" His tone was soft and gentle, but coaxing just the same.

Hermione was shocked at Harry's words. Ron appeared to be stunned, as well. Harry gave them a very sombre expression while she stared at him, surprised at how much he seemed to care for Professor's Snape well-being.

"I don't imagine he's had love for a long time. We just want to help him," he said with a little shrug.

Hermione blinked, then nodded obediently. Well, he did have a point. And she doubted that just writing this list would help them anyway; she doubted they would actually go through with this plan, as ridiculous as it was.

"All right. Well, he is obviously very tender; gentle--"

"What?" Ron would not have used those words to describe the Potions master.

He turned to glare at him. "Well, he'd _have_ to be, wouldn't he? It's not like he can just throw random ingredients into a potion all carelessly, is it?" She wrote 'tender, gentle--see potion brewing abilities' underneath the previous quality. "He's determined, obviously, he's a Slytherin--and I imagine he must be creative, all of those new instructions and spells he made--not to mention he wrote the logic puzzle in our first year as if it were a poem--" She quickly scribbled more traits down onto the parchment. She nibbled on the end of her quill. If she were dating Professor Snape--which the thought of it made her stomach lurch slightly, how inappropriate was that?--what about him would make her want to stay with him? "Well, and he's obviously very patient--er, with his potions, not students, he's a bit impatient with people, isn't he? Well, let's not forget to add mysterious--I suppose that could be a good thing, I've never really cared too much for that in a--well, perhaps a little--and, well, he's obviously very caring."

"Caring?" repeated Harry this time, in shock.

"Well, have you seen him with Malfoy? He cares for him, I'm sure. I don't know, is he very talkative? I guess I don't really know him very well to tell--"

Harry scoffed and raised his eyebrows. "When he taught me Occlumency, he certainly seemed talkative enough, always going on about how wonderful the damn subject was, and how useless I was at it. And he always give us epic monologues when he introduces his class, doesn't he?"

Hermione nodded. He certainly did always have a beautiful, somewhat artistic speech prepared for his classes, didn't he? His explanation of Potions her first year could hardly be described as lacking, nor could his speech when he taught Defence Against the Dark Arts. But, she wouldn't know if that was considered talkative, so she just scribbled down 'good with words' and moved on.

"Well, and he's clearly funny," she said, starting to write that down.

"All right, Hermione, I can't let you put that down," Ron said, grabbing her wrist intentionally. She glanced down at how his palm rested on her wrist and how soft his gentle fingers were holding her, and looked at him expectantly. She didn't know exactly what she felt about Ron holding her wrist like that.

"You even said so yourself, Harry."

"What? I did not."

"Oh, but you did, when I was trying to find out who the Prince was. You said you could tell he was male because of his sense of humour, and you _did_ say humour, Harry, you thought he was funny, and clever."

"Well, I didn't know it was--"

"Precisely my point, Harry, you didn't know it was Professor Snape, and so your bias of him didn't cloud what he was saying which, thinking on it, was probably why you did so much better with his instructions when you didn't know it was him. You thought he was funny. And the Slytherins certainly laugh at him enough." She finally finished writing that quality down. "Well, he certain has a control over his emotions--"

"Which is why he shouted at us in the Shrieking Shack, and constantly insults me, I'm sure," Harry mumbled with a slight scowl.

"I think we can all agree that the situation in the Shrieking Shack was a bit tense--he did assume we were being attacked by an infamous murderer and his werewolf friend who he hadn't trusted, hadn't he? It wasn't as though he had high opinions of them to begin with--I'm not saying that he had any right to think badly of them!" she added hastily before Harry or Ron could defend Lupin or Sirius. "Also, he chooses to insult you. I imagine if he didn't want you knowing he disliked you, you wouldn't. He did have to be in the presence of Voldemort constantly. I doubt he let his true feelings for him show. Besides, Harry, I've read up a bit on Occlumency--it takes control over emotions, which may have been a reason why you did so poorly in it. I'm not saying that's a bad quality, Harry, embracing your emotions is healthier than bottling them up, I'm sure, but they both have their shortcomings."

The scratching of her quill filled the silence.

"Yeah, but obviously Harry learned to control them enough, didn't he? I mean, Snape ended those lessons, and Voldemort wasn't knocking around in his mind our sixth year, was he?" Once again, the slight waver on Voldemort's name.

"You're right."

Harry shifted a little in his seat and smiled at the both of them, but it didn't reach his eyes. He had never told them the real reason his lessons had ended, or that in his sixth year the reason why Voldemort hadn't been in his head was because he had been practicing Occlumency against him, as Dumbledore had said, because he didn't much like sharing Harry's feelings.

Hermione bit her bottom lip in thought, and tapped the feather on the end of her quill against her mouth. "Well, he's not very outgoing, I imagine. I can't really imagine him partying, really. Probably not very open to others. Introspective. That's good. He has lovely penmanship."

Surprisingly, all of these good traits seemed to come from her fingertips naturally, once she decided to see him romantically as it were. Of course, anybody could find good traits about somebody, if they tried. Even Voldemort. He was certainly intelligent and charismatic, if one were so inclined to speak pleasantly about him. Of course, those were the only good traits she could think of about Voldemort, considering 'vile' and 'evil' weren't good traits at all.

"Well, blimey, Hermione, we didn't ask you to write his bloody memoirs," Ron muttered, looking down at the list. Hermione did as well, finally looking over what she had written, surprised at how long the list seemed to be.

Professor Severus Snape

Good Qualities

Honesty

Brave

Intelligent

Tender, gentle--see potion brewing abilities

Determined

Creative

Patient (with potions)

Mysterious (I suppose it's good)

Caring

Good with words

Funny (albeit dryly and sarcastically)

Control over emotions (good with Occlumency)

Introspective

Lovely penmanship

"Well, I suppose we'd better write down bad qualities too, what, so we know what we're dealing with. Hermione? You're the girl, think of him romantically, with the bad qualities."

"What? That's ridiculous. With you two constantly going on about him, it's you two who should be writing about him romantically. You speak about him more than I do, that's for certain, and I'm not going to write down his bad qualities when I've got you two constantly pointing them out to me." She folded her arms.

For some reason, writing out his bad qualities seemed so rude, so betraying. She didn't want to sit and write down every bad quality of Professor Snape's. Perhaps it was because she was afraid of how long the list would be compared the good list. They were, after all, trying to get him with someone to make him happy, although she highly doubted this plan would go any further.

"Well, yeah, but not from a romantic point of view. This is the stuff his girlfriend is going to have to deal with Hermione. We've got to have it from a girl's perspective, when you're thinking about him like you're his girlfriend. Come on."

"Fine." She put a quill to the parchment after dipping it into some ink. "This is so stupid." She put her quill to the paper, sighing. She figured this would be easier than the first part, which made her feel horrible. It wasn't as if she enjoyed tearing others down. "Fine, he's capricious . . . and impatient with students . . . and he holds grudges . . . and he taunts and favours, and . . . and he's . . ." She looked down, seeing what she had written as she'd spoken out his shortcomings. Her mind went blank. Ron and Harry waited beside her, staring at her expectantly. "And . . . and mean," she added hastily, confused at why her mind had gone blank. She scribbled that down.

Well, that list was quite a bit shorter.

Certainly she could think of something more than that. He had insulted her teeth in her fourth year, but, well, that was pretty much covered with 'taunts' and 'mean.' Well, mean was such a general term, wasn't it? It could mean many things. Well, and all of the teachers favoured Harry, so it wasn't that he was the only one, was it? She quickly scribbled that fact down.

After a few moments of her mind being blank, she glanced down at what she'd written.

Unfavourable Qualities

Capricious

Impatient (with students)

Holds grudges

Taunts

Favours (most professors do, however, but with Harry)

Mean

"That's not a lot, is it?" Harry noticed, his brows furrowing slightly. They all glanced at each other, then Harry shrugged. "We can work on it a bit later. We should probably write down general things about him, you know, stuff we know. You know, like he's a half-blood, likes the Dark Arts, his parents' names, stuff like that. Maybe you'll think of a bit more."

"Yeah," Ron encouraged, looking a little crestfallen when he saw how many good things she had written about Snape, and how many more words there were compared to the bad traits.

Hermione turned the parchment over, decided to leave more room on the front in case more traits came to her later, good or bad. She already knew his parents' names, so she quickly wrote that down. "So I suppose he has muggle knowledge then," she pointed out immediately with a smile while she wrote that down.

"I don't know, his dad was a bit of a--" Harry broke off suddenly. His two friends looked at him expectantly, and a little surprised. "Well, I saw just bits of his memories once. His dad wasn't . . . well, he was shouting at his mum, and Snape was, er . . . crying in the corner. It was when he was young."

"Well, he obviously respects his mother--he used her maiden name, almost as though he was proud of being a half 'Prince' and not a half-blood necessarily, I suppose." She hurriedly wrote that down.

They looked at Harry expectantly again. "What?" he demanded.

"Well, you saw his memories,"

Harry suddenly seemed displeased suddenly, and his lips pursed. "Well, not a lot. Just . . . write stuff we already know. He likes Dark Arts, he obviously knew more about it than anyone else, seemed a bit of a nerd if you ask me, he wasn't very popular . . . Just, well, I don't think he was good at Quidditch, his broom was bucking him off, this girl was laughing at him . . ."

"Yeah, well, that's probably why he didn't like your dad, he was good at Quidditch, wasn't he? Jealous git."

Harry looked away from them for a moment, obviously uncomfortable.

"Well, he must have been well-known somehow," Hermione stated while she quickly wrote down much of what Harry had said, frowning slightly when she got to the part where he wasn't very popular, and a bit of a nerd. "Your dad learned that spell somehow. I mean, I thought you were going to think your father was the Prince, but you never said anything about that theory to me if you did." Harry and Ron looked at her with furrowed eyebrows. "You _did_ say you father used that one spell--Lupin told you--"

Harry suddenly stood up from his chair, grabbing his school things and stuffing them into his bag. Ron and Hermione looked at him worriedly, wondering what his sudden attitude was about. He glanced at their expressions. "I'm tired," he explained quickly, although it was obvious he was lying.

He quickly left them at the table, going towards the boys' dormitory.

Ron turned to Hermione, and she stopped writing, watching Harry retreat. "What d'you suppose that was about?" he inquired, his eyes following hers to see him disappear to the dormitory.

She looked at Ron, shrugged slightly. "I don't know. Perhaps he _had_ thought it was his father, and what I said upset somehow . . ."

"I imagine it would be a bit disappointing, him thinking the Prince was his dad and it turning out to be Snape."

She nodded, agreeing with Ron. It would have been very disappointing indeed, especially for Harry, since he had found out the Prince's identity from the Prince himself, right after he'd killed Dumbledore.

"I'll go talk to him," Ron stated, standing up out of his chair. "You keep on writing and . . . doing whatever, homework, studying . . ."

"Are you sure? I can come with you," she suggested, knowing too well how Harry was when in one of his moods.

Ron considered for a moment, then made a grimace. "Well, I think it's best I do it alone. Really, I mean, you're the one who said it, you know?"

Hermione nodded, feeling suddenly guilty. "You're right." She let out a little sigh, then turned back to the parchment, reading over what they'd written about Snape, and she quickly wrote down his nickname.

Ron squeezed her shoulder before he left, and Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, not quite sure what she felt when he did that.


	3. Miserable

Chapter 3: Miserable

Harry flung himself on his bed, face down. Hermione was right--he had thought it was his father, despite the fact he knew his dad was a pureblood. He'd even asked Lupin about it, Lupin remarking that James had never asked them to ever call him Prince. Still, though, he'd wanted it to be him so badly . . . And of course, it had turned out to be the one man he truly hated. Because, although he hated Voldemort, he didn't have to see Voldemort every day, or hear his taunts constantly . . .

And his father . . .

Well, like his father was any better.

Harry would have never thought he'd feel bad for Snape. Everyone always told him how great James was, how wonderful his parents were, that James was Head Boy, the he was so much like James . . . When, all along, he had been humiliating some poor, obviously underprivileged kid--publicly, no less--and nobody did anything, nobody tried to stop him . . . Nobody except his mother . . .

And how Hermione so casually threw out the fact his father used that spell. Of course, it wasn't her fault, it wasn't like she knew--he hadn't said a word to anybody--but it stung nonetheless. He had spent so many years being proud to be James and Lily Potter's son, so many years, just to found out what a prat his father had been, knowing damn well that if he'd been alive then; went to school with him . . . Well, perhaps Harry wouldn't have liked his father. Perhaps he would have (the thought made him ill) felt bad for Snape, perhaps even . . .

No, he would have never been friends with that cruel man; not ever. Snape had absolutely no excuse to act as he did. To take James' actions out on him was petty and childish and uncalled for. Snape could not blame his actions on someone else.

Still, he had never felt so disgusted to have the last name of Potter. Harry had been teased, humiliated, publicly before--his wonderful cousin Dudley saw to that. To think that his father had anything in common with Dudley . . .

And here they were, trying to find a date for the man who, if anything really, didn't deserve one. How could that selfish bastard make anyone happy? Perhaps this plan was anything but spectacular. Perhaps it was a stupid idea.

"Harry?" Ron said tentatively.

He let out a grunt to show that he'd heard him.

"Is everything all right?"

"I said I'm just tired, Ron," he groaned as he turned his head to look at his best friend, who looked disbelieving. Harry wasn't going to tell him the truth. He didn't want to admit the fact that his dad had been more like Malfoy than anyone they would ever compare him to.

Ron shifted uncomfortably, then nodded. "Yeah, well, I just thought . . . You know, maybe Hermione had a point, maybe you did think, well, you know . . . I mean, you didn't think he was Snape, did you? I mean, if you did, I doubt you would have kept the book so long."

Harry let out a small sigh, he supposed that was partly why he had been upset. If anything, it was a good lie. He slowly sat up, feet dangling off the edge of the bed. "Yeah, well, my dad did use it. Naturally I'd want someone I, er, respected--I'd want it to be my father over Snape. It's not like I want to really admit I read that book constantly, staying up all night reading passages, wishing I could just be with him in person, get to really know him, finding out it's, well . . ."

"Yeah," Ron breathed, nodding understandingly.

"I just feel like a complete idiot, too. I mean, it was a Potions book, Ron. Snape never had us read instructions from the book; he wrote them on the board. _Potions,_ Ron. And I didn't even think it could be him, not even once! I mean, and I saw--heard that he'd used that sectumsempra spell on my dad. Lupin told me."

Harry remembered Snape shooting off a hex, and how blood had splashed his father's robes. Ron was looking at him strangely, and he wondered if Ron had heard his little word slip.

"I should've recognized his handwriting, too," he murmured, remembering looking over Snape's essay briefly in the memory.

"You're not stupid, Harry. I mean, out of all the people who've even gone to this school, I mean, thousands, Harry, why would you think about him? He can't have been the only person who was good at potions. Of course you wouldn't think it was him. It's not like you think about him a lot."

"Well, except to hate him," Harry agreed, letting out a small, humourless laugh.

"Well, yeah. But hey, that's why we're doin' this whole setting-Snape-up-thing, right? So he won't be such a . . . well, I mean, what you said, too. You know, about him being happy and all."

Harry let out a harsh laugh and smiled, shaking his head at Ron, who was nodding, as if he really cared about Snape's happiness. "I didn't really mean any of that. I guess it _is_ true, though, if you really want to look at it that way."

Ron sighed in relief. "Yeah, me too. But still, Hermione was bang out of order, calling us Slytherins. Getting him to be nice is as good a noble cause as any! To think, calling _you _a Slytherin!" He let out a small, incredulous laugh.

Harry smiled weakly. Well, the Hat had considered putting him in Slytherin . . .

"So what was all that about then, making Snape happy?"

Harry shrugged. "I had to get Hermione to go along somehow, Ron."

* * *

Even after everyone was in bed, Hermione still worked on her homework and read over what teachers had assigned. It wasn't the first time Hermione had been the last left in the common room, nor would it be the last. She looked over her essays, trying to find any errors or anything that made it less-than-perfect, before putting them away and yawning, deciding it was time for her to be off for bed. She still had some reading left to be done, but it wasn't due until next week. Whilst Hermione often liked to get it done as soon as possible, and spend the rest of the time looking over it and fixing it, she also knew that one could not plan on doing well in school the next day if one did not sleep.

And, thus, she set off for bed.

She walked into the girls' dormitory as quietly as possible. As she quietly got dressed for bed, placing her bag beside her bedside table, she glanced down and saw that a piece of parchment had fallen out of her bag. She quickly picked it up, and saw that it was the parchment she'd been writing on about Professor Snape.

With a sigh, she glanced over it, then shook her head. On the back she'd written down what she knew about it, which wasn't' very much, she noticed. She was still a bit annoyed at the fact she hadn't written as many unfavourable qualities as she would have liked. Hermione liked her pros-and-cons lists to be balanced, and have an equal amount of words in each section. If there were thirteen good traits, then she wanted to have thirteen bad ones as well. Otherwise, it seemed to have a bias and she found it hard to concentrate objectively if one side had more to it than the other.

But this wasn't an object she was planning on buying, and this wasn't a decision she was planning on making, and it certainly wasn't a book or movie she couldn't decide if she liked or not. No, this was a person. A living, breathing person. Hermione didn't like to be mean. Perhaps that was why the unfavourable qualities section was so small. What bothered her the most was that she had tried to find more, but she couldn't.

It just felt wrong, actually writing down why someone was a 'git' to use Ron's word of choice. It felt cruel. Hermione hadn't been the most popular girl in primary school, nor was she in Hogwarts. She had never been bullied treacherously or anything like that, but she had been teased. People had made fun of her for her hair or because she was a nerd. So it wasn't like she wanted to put anyone else through that sort of torment, but it still bothered her that she couldn't say that about Snape--even if, perhaps, he deserved it.

But he had done so much for them during the war! He had been spy for the Order; not only that, but he'd saved Harry's life.

And Hermione, well, she hadn't even been able to curse him--even before he'd saved Harry. It was a good thing he'd been on their side, otherwise he would have killed her in her moment of hesitation.

Although Hermione had promised herself she'd go to sleep, she lit up her wand and read over the lists a few more times, studying each word. So now that they had this parchment (whether or not it was finished) what was the next step in their plan? Obviously they would have to get a woman to like him and him to like her in return, and then set up dates between the two--and do this without Professor Snape finding out.

Just as Hermione's thoughts started whirring with plans, she shook her head and scoffed. "Oh, this is just ridiculous!" she reprimanded herself aloud, then stuffed the parchment in her bag, covered herself with her blankets, and tried to fall asleep.

* * *

Severus sat at the High Table during breakfast Monday morning, his eyes scanning the crowds for any wrong doing. His eyes tended to rest on the Gryffindors' table more so than any other, particularly on three of its inhabitants. Potter and Mister Weasley were bent over, discussing something, and they kept shooting glances up at him, unaware that he was glaring at them in return. It was obvious they were talking about him by the way they kept gesturing towards him and glancing up in his direction. Miss Granger seemed to be annoyed with the both of them, although she did lean towards them and say something every now and again.

They were probably talking about how she was to become his _assistant._ As if Severus needed assistance. If Miss Granger wanted to _learn_ from him and _help_ him, he certainly wasn't going to make it pleasant for her. She was not going to enjoy herself. How dare she come to him with an offer her literally could not refuse? How many others would want her for their assistant; the friend of the famous Harry Potter? Why did she choose to torment him?

He glared at Headmistress McGonagall for forcing him to accept the young Gryffindor's offer. After all he had done for the Order, she dared to force him to take on a assistant everybody knew he was not fond of.

And only to have Miss Granger keep on eye on him. Of that he was certain. She still did not trust him. What did she know of sacrifice? Yes, she was upset that her mentor, Albus Dumbledore, had died as Severus' hand. But she knew nothing of the guilt--she knew nothing of what it was like to actually kill him.

To top it all off, she had refused him the job he wanted. Dumbledore had trusted him with the Defence Against the Dark Arts job after fourteen years, only for her to stick him back in the Potions classroom. Damn Slughorn for retiring. Damn him. And who had she given the job he wanted--he _deserved--_to? Some blithering idiot who had been--what else?--a Gryffindor. Not just any Gryffindor, but someone who had dated both Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. Naturally. Why not just bring all four Marauders back from the dead and have them own the damn school? Was she _trying_ to make his life hell?

He scowled when he remembered that Miss Granger was going to be in his classroom at eight pm. He hoped that she was late. He imagined Miss Granger explaining to her former Head of House (naturally the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was the Head of Gryffindor now) that she was an incompetent fool incapable of understanding the concept of time, and she would therefore be unable to be his assistant. He smirked with vindictive pleasure at the thought, although he knew that she would be at his classroom on time, if not early.

Just like he knew Professor Gregarson was staring at him.

He looked away from the Gryffindor table, ignoring his three least favourite students, to looked at Professor Gregarson. As soon as he looked at her, she smiled a bright, welcoming smile. "Hello, Severus," she greeted, brushing her blonde hair behind her shoulder.

He scowled at her in return. He was in no mood to talk to the playthings of Marauders.

"I didn't know that you taught here," she said in an attempt to start a conversation.

"You hadn't? How interesting, seeing as I remember the fact my name was in the _Daily Prophet_ quite heavily two years ago, most commonly followed with 'former professor at Hogwarts' along with my picture and how long I had been teaching in which subjects," he replied sardonically.

She blinked a few times. "I meant, I didn't know you were teaching here _again."_

"You mean, you didn't know that our lovely headmistress would be foolish enough to re-hire a known murderer."

She let out a huff of air and turned away from him, her full mouth pursed while she folded her arms across her rather impressive chest in a petulant manner.

He turned away from her, smirking to himself. Well, that certainly ended that conversation. Thankfully.

Now he could return to planning what was obviously going to become a miserable day.


	4. Unannounced

Chapter 4: Unannounced

Hermione sighed as she ate her breakfast. Ron and Harry had been talking about Professor Gregarson for the past few minutes. It was actually quite a bit irritating for her. She didn't know why it annoyed her so much. Why was it that boys had to lose their minds whenever a pretty girl was within a five mile radius?

Whenever Hermione looked at Professor Gregarson, she thought of those stupid romance novels she'd tried to read but never really liked. Professor Gregarson had beautiful, flowing, blonde hair that fell down her back in curls. Soft curls. Hermione had had curly hair her whole life, and she never once had loose curls falling gently down her back. She had snarls and frizz, that's what she had. She had a full, pouting mouth, and gorgeous, sapphire-blue eyes (as if normal blue couldn't possible describe those damn irises) and flawless, creamy skin. To make it worse, she had curves in all the right places. Hermione wasn't really sure how anyone could have curves in all the right places, seeing as she had never met someone who had curves in the _wrong_ places . . . But it was something she'd heard Ron say last week.

In fact, Hermione had even tried getting them to talk about their little matchmaker plan by pulling out her parchment and showing them the little bit she'd added to the general knowledge she had about Professor Snape. They'd glanced at the parchment, then continued talking about what they hoped they would learn in Defence Against the Dark Arts that year, and that they sure hoped that the curse broke when Voldemort died, because she seemed to be a good teacher.

How they could tell that from one class with her, in which she had mostly talked about herself and barely even touched on the syllabus for that year, she had no idea.

She pulled out the piece of parchment and glanced over it, feeling a little awkward. It felt like Professor Snape's eyes were on her when she looked down at the parchment and read over it. It was almost like she could feel his eyes on her, although she had no idea why. Perhaps it was the guilt from writing stuff about him without his knowledge. The boys kept glancing up at Gregarson and gesturing towards her, and she couldn't keep her mind off of the stupid plan they'd made.

She knew they weren't going to go through with it. It was only obvious. But now the idea had seemed nice. She found herself wishing they could somehow go through with it; that they could somehow make it work. He deserved it, especially after the war and all he had done. But she doubted they would. It made her a bit annoyed.

She finally glanced up at Snape after reading over his list of good qualities, and caught him staring at her. Which explained why she had felt his eyes on her. She was slight taken aback at him openly staring at her. Why was he looking at her? She felt a little awkward, as if she'd been caught doing something wrong, and she found herself lowering the parchment so that it was on her lap and under the table, as if he could somehow read the writing even though he was far away. Their eyes met so it was obvious they both knew they were looking at each other, and she distinctly saw his lip curl into a scowl. He looked away, looking as unpleasant as ever.

* * *

Severus sat behind his desk, keeping his eye on the time. Oh, how he prayed for her to show up five minutes late. How he prayed she'd change her mind. He waited for the damn minute hand to move onto twelve, half hoping, half dreading. He knew damn well what was going to happen, but still, he could not help but imagine her failing to show.

Then, of course, he heard knocks on his door. And she was three minutes early. Of course.

"Enter," he said, although he would have rather pretended not to be there.

She obeyed him, eye darting around the room as if she was trying to memorize its surroundings. That would have probably been what she was doing, had she not already been in that classes hundreds of times before, so he knew she was just doing it to avoid looking at him.

She had caught him staring at her during breakfast, and it seemed to have unnerved her. Good. It wasn't the first time he'd glared at her and her two idiot friends, nor would it be the last. The sooner she understood he did not like her, the better.

"Professor," she greeted as if she greeted him every day and they were friends.

He raised an eyebrow at her and watched as she stood in front of his desk, brown eyes wide and a small, albeit forced, smile on her face. She was awaiting her first orders. "Do you wish to brew standing?" he asked sarcastically, thoroughly annoyed just by her bushy-haired presence.

"Er, n-no sir," she stammered, blinking rapidly and clearing her throat.

"Then sit." She looked around herself, as if expecting to find a name tag on one of the desks. Obviously there weren't any, and she sat up front, sitting on the edge of her seat, looking very much like she had the first day in his class, and every class afterwards, regrettably. He didn't mind the fact she paid attention. In fact, it was a pleasant change. He did not, however, like the fact she was doing that when she was the only one in here. He found it unnerving, somehow. It was . . . out of place.

She stared expectantly at him for a few moments nervously, while he appraised her, scowling. He had better things to do with his time then deal with teenagers in his classroom.

"You were early," he finally said.

"I didn't want to be late, sir. I . . . really want to do this with you." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Sir," she added hastily, misunderstanding the reason behind his eyebrow arch.

"How ambitious of you," he remarked. At least she called him sir. She knew to respect him. That was something her precious friends didn't know. "Although I assume it is unnecessary to inform you, but even though we are not in a normal classroom setting, you will call me 'professor' and 'sir' at all times. It appears you already know this, however, I saw fit to remind you."

"Yes, sir, I know, sir."

"However, you do not need to say it twice in one sentence. It's annoying."

She blinked a few times. "All right. It's just, Harry told me that you--"

"And we will not be discussing Potter. I am not part of your social circle, nor do I want to be. This is my classroom; you are my Potions apprentice, or assistant, however you wish to take it. This is not a knitting group, and therefore, I don't care about your life, or any of your friends' lives, or any of the latest gossip. This is strictly about Potions. Nothing else. In fact, if you could refrain from saying anything at all, I would be most grateful."

She opened her mouth to agree, most likely, but then she clamped her mouth shut and nodded. She looked like she was regretting her decision. Good.

"Madam Pomfrey needs a constant supply of medicinal potions of all sorts--healing draughts, Dreamless Sleep Potions--and most of our time together will be dealing with such matters. There will be times I'll need you to brew something for my personal stores. Other than that, I will be going over Potions theories, the relevance of certain ingredients and why they are used in certain potions. Suffice it to say, Miss Granger, this will not be a class in which text book verbatim is needed. In fact, I daresay you might actually need to think with your own mind, as hard as that may be for you."

He waited for her to respond. He waited for her to cry. He had made her cry in her fourth year when he'd insulted her teeth. He hoped he could manage it again. Perhaps a nicer man would have felt guilty at what he'd said. Personally, he just felt a sort of vindictive pleasure. He wasn't very fond of the girl, so why should he pretend to actually care about her feelings? It wasn't as if she liked him, so why should he even try to like her? Hopefully he'd manage to scare her off so he could live in peace.

Because if Severus Snape wanted anything in this world, especially after the damn war, it was some peace.

He had saved Harry Potter, and that was the end of that. He was not thanked. He was pardoned for his crimes, but he was not thanked. His innocence was known, but nobody cared, least of all the idiot boy who he had saved even though he despised the little selfish prat. Not that he expected any thanks, nor craved it. However, a small pat on the back would have been nice. Perhaps someone to say, "Yes, I know how much you hate that boy, yet you saved him anyway, despite the fact the Dark Lord had just perished and it wouldn't have mattered if he died anyway, and you were sorely tempted to just pretend you hadn't seen Lucius behind him raising his wand." But no one would ever say that to him. Why? Because nobody cared about him--they just cared about certain green-eyed, black-haired insolent boys.

Not that he cared, of course.

"I didn't bring a text book, sir."

"No books? Most unlike you, Miss Granger, care to enlighten me why you haven't brought any, or how you plan to think without one?"

"I can think without a book, Professor," she pointed out, sounding and appearing to be mildly offended.

He arched an eyebrow at her, then leaned forward slightly, pressing his fingers together, his hands steeple-like. "Really? I find it doubtful. You may soon prove me wrong, however unlikely that is."

Her lips pursed and her back straightened, but she managed to hold her tongue, although he could tell she was holding back whatever insults that ran through her mind.

"You haven't answered my question, Miss Granger."

She let out a small sigh and closed her eyes for a second, as if summoning the courage to speak. Or at least trying to quell any angry words or tones. "I have . . . become aware of the fact that you . . . do not like the books, sir."

"I like books," he spat, snarling at her. "I enjoy to read. In fact, I have my own personal library. I do not, however, _rely_ on them. I have my own mind."

"Oh, I didn't mean to imply you didn't like to read, I just meant you don't--well, rely on them, like you said. I've recently . . . become aware of that, sir."

"After six years of me telling you not to recite text books it finally managed to find its way through your thick head. Amazing. She learns." She pursed her lips. She was barely containing her anger. How he wanted her to refuse to continue. How he wanted to infuriate her so much she wanted never to see him again. "However did you manage to figure that out?"

"Well, you made your own instructions, sir," she said.

And he openly glared at her. He had forgotten about Potter finding his damn book.

"We will not discuss the Half-Blood Prince in this class _ever again_ do you understand?" he spat. He was not ashamed to have written any of those spells, nor was he ashamed to be intelligent enough to write his own instructions. He just didn't like the son of his enemy looking through his things. It was like an invasion of his privacy. "Whatever books Potter has hidden and whoever owned these books before him is none of my concern, Half-Blood Prince or not."

She looked a little puzzled as if he had said something strange, although he had no idea what that could've been, but then she nodded. "Yes, sir."

The door opened and Professor Gregarson strode in, her blonde locks trailing behind her and bouncing with each step she took. Her breasts bounced slightly, too. Severus scowled. Although the infernal woman was wearing modest robes, she somehow managed to make them look seducing. Her crimson robes clung to her body and flared out a little once it got to her hips, and it ended at her knees, the flowing, thin fabric rippling as she walked.

"I believe it's called knocking, Gregarson. Ever heard of it?" he snapped.

"Yeah, I have," she retorted with a glare to rival his own.

He arched his eyebrow. "Then perhaps you should learn how to do it. You ever come into my classroom in such a way again, and you will regret it."

"Oh yeah? And what'll you do?" she growled.

He raised his wand and she flung out of the classroom, landing in the hall outside with a thunk, the door slamming shut behind her. He flicked his wand again, and the door locked audibly.

"What was that about?" Miss Granger asked, looking at the door as if it had somehow offended her.

"That, Miss Granger, is what happens when you enter my classroom unannounced. See that you do not do it," he informed. She nodded in acceptance. At least she had the sense to knock and had some respect. "However, if you were referring to her attitude, then I am as clueless as you are."

There was the unmistakeable sound of someone trying to open the door. For a few moments, the room was silent except for the tugging and the sound of someone trying to futilely turn the knob. There was a second of silence, then three booming knocks followed it.

"Enter," Severus said, smirking as she strode in again, this time looking entirely flustered.

"That was uncalled for!" she snapped.

"No, it was simply the answer to your question. Your raised tone is uncalled for."

She scoffed, then tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Oh, is it? Well, then, I suppose you weren't snubbing me at dinner _and_ at breakfast! Excuse me for trying to start up a conversation!"

He raised his eyebrow at her. Was she seriously throwing a fit because of that? She'd tried talking to him at dinner again, and he'd quickly ended that. "Could this have waited? In case you haven't noticed, I'm busy." He indicated Miss Granger with his hand.

Gregarson turned and acknowledged her with a dazzling, crimson smile. "Oh, I didn't see you there, sorry," she said quickly in a falsely-apologetic tone. Then she turned and regarded Severus as if there wasn't a student sitting behind her. "What were you two doing that made it so important for me to knock?" she asked with furrowed eyebrows.

"That is hardly your business," he informed, which only made her look at him more suspiciously. "However, Miss Granger here had taken it upon herself to make my days more tedious by becoming my Potions apprentice and assistant."

"And you accepted?"

"Obviously," he said with a raised eyebrow. She blinked a few times, as if stunned. He did not elaborate on why he had, though. "However, whether or not I have company, you will _always_ knock when entering my classroom, office, or quarters. Good day, Gregarson."

"But we haven't finished this discussion!"

"Yes, we have. I believe I made my intentions quite clear at both breakfast and dinner."

"No, Severus, I think you need to--"

"If you do not leave, I will make you." Although his voice was not raised, the threat was still there as clear as day. She opened her mouth to retort and he raised his wand, threatening to expel her from the room again.

She huffed, turned on her heel, and left, slamming the door shut behind her.

Severus noticed that Miss Granger seemed as annoyed as he was. After a moment of him pondering why she would be annoyed at her head of house, he quirked his eyebrow briefly. "We have nothing else to discuss, Miss Granger. Return here next Monday, at the same time. Do not be late."

She nodded quickly, then got out of her seat and put her bag on her shoulder, readjusting the strap. As she was getting ready, he heard her let out a small laugh.

"Is something funny?"

She just chuckled a little bit. "Well, I was just thinking about how you flung her from the room. She asked you what would happen, and . . ." She chuckled a little bit more. He hadn't expected her to think of anything he did as funny, although he thought what he'd done as rather witty himself. "I'm glad you've never done that to me."

"You've never been so rude as to barge into my classroom without knocking, either."

She nodded in agreement. "Well, obviously. Who does that? Honestly."

"Gregarson, apparently." She nodded again, and he just looked her over. He found it odd she thought it funny.

"Apparently." She looked over him, then smiled briefly and nodded once. "I'll see you next Monday, Professor."

"Unfortunately."

She blinked a few times, then nodded again, and left the classroom, head lowered a little in what appeared to be defeat.

When the door closed, he let out a relieved sigh, and began massaging his temples. The two of them had never talked to one another, with the exception of when she answered a question in his class in a way that thoroughly annoyed him. Well, that and every time she saw him in the halls, she smiled and greeted him cheerily. He merely responded with a raised eyebrow when she did that. He had found it odd for the first few years, but after that he realized she did that with all of her professors, with the exception of Umbridge. Although he didn't necessarily care what anybody thought of him, it was nice to know she greeted him and not that cow.

That was the first time they'd ever had a conversation that lasted longer than ten seconds. About ninety-five percent of it had been him insulting her, the other five percent had been mere information that he hadn't managed to throw something scathing into. Hopefully it made her less willing to come, because he honestly had better things to do with his time.

But he knew she'd show up.

Ambitious little know-it-all.

* * *

Hermione went into the common room, a little surprised. She'd expected that to go a bit longer, and it wasn't nearly as bad as she had expected. Well, work wise. She'd expected him to at least assign her some impossible potion to brew and critique every thing she did as she did it. His personality and attitude, of course, was just as expected. There hadn't been a single moment between them that had been civil.

And Gregarson just had to show up, didn't she? At least her professor hadn't drooled over her like some immature little boy. Then again, it wasn't as if he would do that in front of Professor Gregarson, would he? And what was that attitude about? Professor Snape wasn't very amiable, so it wasn't like he'd never been rude to anyone before. What was with her tracking him down and yelling at him because he hadn't wanted to talk? What were they, five?

Well, she had called him by his first name, so perhaps they knew each other personally, so it was more offensive than usual.

She remembered the look on her Defence Against the Dark Arts professor's face as she flew out the door and laughed a few times quietly, sitting down beside Ron and Harry.

"What's funny?" Ron asked as he draped his arm over the back of the chair suddenly, which just happened to be behind her shoulders.

She looked at him, then shook her head. "Oh, nothing. Professor Gregarson dropped by. Well, actually, she burst in rudely and started getting shirty with him for no reason. He expelled her from his room is all."

"That's not really that funny," he responded with his brows furrowed.

"Well, you had to have been there, her face was hilarious. I've never seen anyone talk to him like that, Well, except you, Harry. Even then, he's never expelled you from the room."

"He threw a jar of cockroaches at me after tossing me at the door once," he revealed, shrugging a bit as if he were discussing something rather boring. They both looked at him strangely, then he blinked his green eyes and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Occlumency," he explained before looking away from them.

"Why did he do that? That's a bit excessive, don't you think?"

"A bit excessive, Hermione? Come on," Ron mumbled, shifting his position so that his arm was tighter around her shoulders, although they weren't actually on them.

She let out a sigh, feeling a little uncomfortable with his arm around her, so she sat forward a bit and straightened her back so it wasn't against the back of the couch. "All right, fine. We all agree he isn't entirely pleasant, and there wasn't any reason for it. Trust me, Ron, I just got back from his classroom. I know he isn't nice. I don't think a word of what he said to me wasn't an insult."

"I don't know, I can't remember why he did it," Harry said, finally answering the question.

Hermione sighed. Professor Snape was horrid to Harry, and he wasn't genial, so it didn't surprise her, really. For some reason, though, she had a hard time seeing him do it over something stupid. Then again, she had just watched him throw a grown woman out of his classroom for entering without knocking. It had been a bit funny then, but him tossing Harry to the door and throwing a jar of cockroaches at him wasn't.

With a sigh, she pulled out a text book and put her piece of parchment on it, turning it to the side that had general things they knew about Professor Snape on it.

"What's that?" Ron asked.

"You two are the ones who wanted to play matchmaker, not me, and you've already forgotten? It's nice to see how thorough you are in your plans."

"I meant, what are you writing?" Ron rephrased, but Hermione had the impression he really had forgotten and was just saying something to make it look like he hadn't.

Hermione quickly scribbled something down on the general things they knew about him, then nodded to herself. "He likes to read, and he hates it when people don't knock."

"Or maybe he doesn't like it when people get shirty with him. You said Gregarson got an attitude," Harry pointed out, so Hermione scribbled down what he'd pointed out as well. "Why was she there in the first place?"

"Apparently she tried starting a conversation with him and she said he 'snubbed' her."

"Wait, you're saying that _Gregarson_ started a conversation with him and _he_ snubbed _her?"_ Ron inquired, apparently dumbstruck by the very thought of it. "Can't believe someone as good looking as her would waste their time on that ugly git."

She didn't know if it was because Ron was calling Gregarson attractive or because he was calling Snape ugly (both very true statements, however) but she was irritated again. "We've been through this, Ron. Looks aren't the most important thing."

Ron deflated at once, realizing he'd said something offensive by her attitude. Harry casually turned away and was suddenly very focused on the wall on the opposite side of the common room.

"I didn't mean it like that. It's just . . . well, it's a bit weird, you know. I would've expected it the other way around, if anything, that's all I meant."

Hermione understood what Ron meant. Perhaps what annoyed her the most was that he actually made sense, and it _was_ a bit weird. She stuffed the parchment back in her bag and stood up. "I'm a bit tired. I'm off to bed," she said, leaving her two friends on the couch, even though it wasn't even nine o' clock yet.

* * *

A/N--Happy belated MLK Jr. Day!

I have just found out that Draco Malfoy married Astoria Greengrass. Congrats! Also, little Scorpius is about two now. Aw.

Something sad happened today. Heath Ledger died. I feel quite saddened about it. I hope his family is doing okay. He was a good actor, and I presume a good man.


	5. A Little Help

Chapter 5: A Little Help

Hermione was normally one of the first few people up in the mornings. She wasn't always the first one awake or the first in the common room, but she was definitely there before most. She was used to waking earlier than others. She was certainly almost always up before Ron and Harry. They liked to sleep in as much as possible.

So when Hermione walked into the common room to find Ron and Harry awake and sitting at a table, bent over a piece of parchment, she was confused. The only other person besides those two and her awake was Dean Thomas, and he was busy drawing something on the opposite of the room, so she wasn't' going to ask him how long they'd been awake. Or if they had even gone to sleep. She hoped they had.

"What are you two doing up so early?" she asked, sitting beside the two of them, looking down at the parchment, which seemed to have some of her professors' names on it.

Ron yawned widely, then rubbed his eyes sleepily. "Harry woke me up. We've been workin' on this."

Harry ran a hand through his messy, jet-black hair. "I had a dream you were buying Snape socks. You kept picking out ones for him and he didn't like any of them, so you got shirty with him and he finally picked the black ones."

"And what does this have to do with you two being up so early?"

"Well, I remember thinking that it wasn't that big of a surprise no one wanted to date him if he couldn't even do something as simple as sock shopping without irritating someone. Then I realized that we hadn't even picked a girl out for him."

Hermione blinked a few times, then glanced down at the parchment and noticed that each of the professors written down were female. She read over them.

McGonagall

Hooch

Sinistra

Vector

Sprout

Trelawney

"Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout are married," Hermione pointed out.

"To each other?" Ron asked in shock.

Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes. "No. They're both just married. So you'll have to cross them off. Professors Vector and Hooch, on the other hand . . ." She paused for a moment, looking at the two of them, who were apparently surprised. "Well, I'm sure they would be married if it was legal. So that just leaves Professor Sinistra and Professor Trelawney."

With a sigh, Harry crossed of those she had mentioned, and looked at the final two. "What do you think Hermione? Sinistra better to look at, but . . . Well, like you said, it's not about looks. Whose personality do you think . . . Well, would fit his better?"

Hermione smiled a little bit, glad that Harry was finally thinking less superficially. "Well, I can be certain he wouldn't like Trelawney. That old bat is a complete fraud, and I doubt Professor Snape would want anythign to do with someone who can't even teach the subject she proclaims to know. Honestly, one can't turn the Sight on and off--and she doesn't even teach how to read symbols or read cards or anything! No, if anyone were to date her, it would be Lockhart."

"Yeah, he's lock up in St. Mungo's, he'd definitely be crazy enough to date her. I mean, if he could remember her name long enough," Ron pointed out with a shrug.

Harry laughed and Hermione found herself chuckling a bit, ignoring how Ron seemed a bit too pleased at the fact she thought what he said was funny. "Actually, I meant because they were both frauds," she added, smiling a bit.

Harry chuckled a bit louder as he crossed out Trelawney's name. "Yeah, all right. So that leaves Sinistra. What do you think about that? Think it'll work?"

Hermione pursed her lips, thinking of Professor Sinistra. "I don't know. She seems smart enough, but . . . Well, I think Professor Snape would have to date someone more . . . Well, with more of a backbone, and definitely more patient."

"Well, I can't think of anyone else," mumbled Harry, staring at the parchment with his brows furrowed in thought. "I guess it'll have to do. I mean, I can't think of any other girl professors . . ."

Hermione looked down, thinking that there had to be more females on the staff.

"Well, maybe, er . . ." Ron started, as if slightly uncomfortable. They both looked at him, waiting for him to finish his sentence. "Well maybe he's not into girls," he said quickly, as if he was forcing the words out of him.

Although Hermione had nothing against homosexuals--she had a cousin on her father's side who was gay, and she had always liked him--for some reason the thought of Professor Snape being gay bothered her. However, she couldn't tell if he was or not. It wasn't as if she had ever asked, and she'd never seen him with anyone of either gender romantically . . .

Harry cleared his throat as he shook his head. "Well, he's not gay, so . . ."

"How d'you know?" Ron inquired.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, and was staring at the parchment with more intensity than what was needed. "Er, well . . . You know how everyone thought Snape was a Death Eater except Dumbledore?" They both nodded, urging Harry on although it was obvious that he was incredibly uncomfortable talking about it. "Well, he had that iron-clad reason to believe Snape, you know. So when Snape was on trial, well . . . He had to show the minister some proof. Remember?"

"Yeah, of course we do," Hermione said, tilting her head to the side. "I was always curious as to what happened when the minister talked to the two of you privately."

"I was more curious as to what proves Snape wasn't an evil git," Ron said with a shrug.

Harry nodded and cleared his throat. "Well, he was in love with . . . er, a girl, so yeah, he's not gay."

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, getting the feeling she knew why this topic would make Harry uncomfortable, and she figured it had nothing to do with his innocence, but more to do with the girl Snape was in love with.

Ron let out a scoff. "So? Doesn't mean anything. Being in love doesn't prove he's innocent. Honestly, I think Dumbledore was a little cracked in the head to believe Snape just 'cause he was in love. Yeah, it's great Dumbledore turned out to be right--all that evidence proving Dumbledore planned the whole thing and all--but really, him being in love was why he trusted him? I mean, he could've been in love with a Death Eater for all we know."

"My mum wasn't a Death Eater."

"Well, we're not talking about your mum, we're talk--"

Hermione could have slapped Ron upside the head for speaking at the moment. Hermione was just as shocked as anyone at the news that Snape had loved Lily, but it did make a sort of sense when she thought about it. She remembered the minister needed proof immediately, and Snape saving Harry wasn't enough--Voldemort had died before Snape had Stunned Lucius Malfoy, after all. He could have been saving his own skin as well as Harry's, not to mention he hadn't killed Malfoy. Many people thought that Snape had only done it because Voldemort was dead and he knew that he would go to Azkaban if he didn't try to make himself seem like a spy. For some reason, she felt a little upset at the ministry for making Snape show that he was in love with Harry's mum in front of Harry. Thankfully they hadn't posted the proof for all the world to see--in the _Prophet_ it had merely stated that they had substantial proof.

There was a long awkward silence in which Ron looked around the room, obviously uncomfortable, and Hermione was torn between patting Harry's shoulder and glaring at Ron. She decided to do neither.

"So he's not gay," Harry said finally in a tone of forced nonchalance.

Hermione glanced down at the paper, seeing Sinistra's name and frowning. For some reason, the impatient Sinsitra, who was a bit of a pushover and was easily side-tracked, didn't' seem like a good fit for Professor Snape. And the list seemed . . . short. There was something missing.

"What about Professor Gregarson?" Hermione realized aloud.

They were quiet for a moment, then Ron's blue eyes widened and a small smile crept to his features. "Hermione, you're a genius. We forgot about her! I mean, we're so used to the Defence teachers leaving we didn't . . . but the curse has got to be broken now! It's genius! She started talking with him, remember?"

Harry quickly scribbled down her name and nodded. "You're right. She seems to _want_ to get to know him, if she's starting conversations with him. Not to mention, she's new here, so she has that in her favour. Everyone else knows how much of a git he is, and she doesn't. Now . . . How are we going to get them together?" He crossed off Sinistra's name forcefully.

Hermione didn't have to wonder why both Harry and Ron were looking at her expectantly as she pulled out her parchment and wrote 'was/is? in love with Lily Potter née Evans' and then she wrote Gregarson's name down and circled it. She knew why they were looking at her, and she was taking her sweet time writing her things down.

She looked at them, then sighed. "I don't know. I don't know enough about her. I mean, we could try and get him to actually want to talk to her, I suppose . . ." They both nodded, urging her on. She thought for a moment. "Well, he likes Dark Arts, so maybe . . . They can develop that somehow. I doubt he'll just start talking to her, though. We've got to make her look . . . sincere and like someone he might be interested in. Well, and apologetic. I doubt he'll be too willing being as she burst into his room unannounced."

"So, I guess we've got to get her to apologize first," Ron stated, leaning back on his chair and putting his hands behind his head, mouth twisted into a thoughtful grimace.

"Actually, we just have to make him think she's apologetic. Hermione, you have that extra class with him. You could tell him that Gregarson told you to say she's sorry."

"Sorry, Harry, but I don't think he'd be too impressed with her if she made a student do it for him." Harry looked a little disappointed but then a thought struck her. "I suppose we could write a note and say it's from her. Leave it in the staffroom or in his office or something."

"Excellent! Hermione, you've got the nicest handwriting--you write the note."

Hermione let out a sigh. "Harry, the handwriting has to look similar to hers. I can't make my handwriting look like hers unless I have something to compare it with."

"Just get her to write you a note saying you can go into the Restricted Section," Ron suggested.

Hermione sighed and shook her head. "There's no guarantee she'd write it for me. Teachers normally aren't supposed to unless it's for a report in their class, and I don't want to look like a fool if I ask her to write it and she won't let me."

"Improvise," Harry told her with a shrug. "Just make up something."

Ron cleared his throat and looked between the two of them with a small grimace. "Er, mate . . . Remember her improvising at Borgin and Burkes, when Malfoy was buying stuff? Maybe that isn't such a good idea. Why don't you ask her?"

"Yeah, right, Ron--me and you actually wanting to go to the library and read? She'll figure something's up in a second. But you're right. Hermione, you've gotta have a plan beforehand. You've got to get her to write it."

"I'm not a Slytherin, Harry--I can't manipulate or--or convince people! Harry, I had to resort to an _official parchment_ for Professor Snape to accept my apprenticeship! This is ridiculous!" She tossed her quill down, which she had just realized was in her hand still, and folded her arms.

The smile that crept across Harry's features was slightly dark. "I think I know someone who might be good at manipulating."

* * *

Draco sat next to the tree beside the lake, scowling as he watched the giants squid's tentacles slither in and out of the water. There was a time that Crabbe and Goyle would have joined him beside the tree, or at least Pansy, but now, no one stood beside him. Crabbe and Goyle were dead, and no way in hell would Pansy Parkinson ever sit beside some "cast-off loser like him" to put it in her words. 

Nobody wanted to sit beside Draco, and he was absolutely fine with that. He didn't care. He sneered at everybody who chanced a glance at him, and he was perfectly content knowing that everybody hated him and didn't think he deserved to live.

He wished Potter would have just let him die.

The only one who had even shown any liking towards him was Snape, obviously. He'd always been fond of him, so it wasn't that surprising. Still, because of him, his father was in Azkaban, and his mother was depressed because of it, so he wasn't sure what he felt towards his head of house at the moment. Still, he supposed it was nice to have someone inquire after his feelings, and treat him like something other than a disgusting bug on the bottom of his shoe.

He knew why people parted for him in the halls. He knew why nobody liked to talk to him. He knew why all of the professor (with the exception of Snape) wouldn't ask him to answer any questions. Draco had always had some little groupie following him around, doing what he asked, or someone to talk to. And now he had nobody. He hated being alone, but would be damned before he let anybody know it.

He heard someone approach him from behind, but he continued staring at the lake, wondering if he stayed silent for long enough if they'd speak or just walk on by.

"Er, Malfoy?" came a voice from behind him.

Draco scowled. "Not interested, Potter."

Potter sat beside him nervously and stared out across the lake with a fixed focus. Draco narrowed his eyes at his enemy, who just smiled warily, keeping his eyes on the lake, and said, "Nice weather, eh?"

"Are you deaf? Bugger off."

Potter turned towards him, wearing the fakest smile he'd ever seen. "So, er, I had a favour to ask of you," he began, looking wary.

"And what makes you think I care?"

"Well, I saved your life. You owe me."

"I don't owe you a damn thing, Potter. You chose to save me. I didn't ask you to."

"Just hear me out, at least."

Draco stood up, brushing off his robes, and started walking off, completely uninterested. He made it a few feet before Potter was walking beside him. "Sorry, Malfoy, I--I didn't mean to say you owed me--you're right, you shouldn't have to owe me anything. Look, it's about . . . Well, I need help with something."

"I thought Granger was the resident brain?" he asked with a sneer, walking faster.

Harry rubbed the back of his head. "Well, yeah but . . . See, it's about Snape."

Draco stopped moving and peered at Potter, his cold, grey eyes dangerous. "I'm not interested in doing anything to him. He may have slammed my father in Azkaban, but he's the only one who gives a damn about me--don't pretend like you don't know everybody hates me--and no, this isn't me asking for pity or sympathy or whining or anything, it's the truth. Find someone else."

He started walking off again, but he felt Potter grab his arm. "Malfoy, wait--"

Draco spun around and jerked his arm out of his grasp. "What the hell is your problem, Potter?"

"Look--that's why I wanted to ask you--I know you like Snape."

"I'm not a pouf," he spat. "I think you may have mixed me up with Longbottom."

Harry's expression was similar to that of someone who'd been smacked across the face. Longbottom had died in the final battle trying to fight Bellatrix. Obviously she'd won.

Harry seemed to be wrestling with some thoughts and insults, but after he took in a deep breath, he forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant you . . . Like him. Care for him."

Draco shifted uncomfortably, but could not deny it believably.

"We're trying to hook him up with Gregarson."

Draco laughed. "You're bloody stupid Potter."

"Please, Malfoy? I know you'd want to see him get together with someone. Don't you care about him? I mean, he . . . practically saved you. And, well, the Unbreakable Vow . . . He did it for you."

Draco rolled his eyes. Stupid Gryffindors. "Did you honestly think the guilt trip would work on me?"

"Well, I--" He clamped his mouth shut, and his cheeks reddened out of frustration. Draco smirked. "Look, I don't what you want me to say or what I have to do to get your help, but I'm really trying to not be a prat to you. We're trying to get Snape with Gregarson, and it's obvious we bit off more than we can chew and I just need a bit of your help, all right? I'll pay you."

"Because I am in such need of money," he drawled sarcastically.

Harry clenched his jaw angrily, then let out a long sigh and stormed off, brushing past Draco ,who kept smirking. He turned and watched Potter leave for a moment, then called; "So why do you need me, Potter?"

He stopped walking off and slowly turned to face him, his green eyes narrowed. He walked back over to him slowly, stepping right in front of him, apparently curious. "What do you mean?" he asked finally.

"Why on earth would you come to me? What is it that I have that nobody else does? What do I have that makes it impossible for you to get Snape with Gregarson without me?" he rephrased with a sneer, putting a delicate stress on the last sentence so that Potter knew if he walked away he would not achieve his objective.

He wanted to hear it. He wanted to hear why he came to him--why Potter thought he was the best for the job. Why he was so much better than his idiot friends.

For a moment he looked confused, then the scar-headed prat seemed to realize Draco wanted an ego boost. "Because you're . . . good at manipulating."

"That's not good enough, Potter," he said, holding his hand up near his face and studying his fingernails coolly.

"You're smart?" he suggested warily.

"Smarter than . . ." Draco urged, his grey eyes leaving his fingernails.

Harry looked like he would rather die then talk, but he let out a sigh. "Smarter than Hermione."

"Good. Now, _Potter,_ I want you to get on you knees and _beg."_

Potter scoffed. "Forget it." He turned around and went to stride off. Draco had expected this.

"Fine. I'll just go tell Professor Snape that you're playing cupid. I bet he'll just love to hear that."

Potter slowly turned, the look of horror on his face pure treasure. He'd fallen into his trap. "You're lying."

"Am I?" he responded with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

"He wouldn't believe you."

"Oh, he would. And I heard you're a terrible occlumens, so I can guarantee you wouldn't be able to lie to him. How many detentions do you think you'll get?"

He stood up straighter and towered over him, narrowing his vivid green eyes angrily. "You're not going to tell him, Malfoy."

"Just like a Gryffindor--threatening me. And do you honestly think that'll make me want to tell him less? I'm too intrigued by your little plan to back out now, Potter--I _really_ want to help. And I _will_ help or he'll find out. And a few bruises won't make me change my mind. Now, get on your knees and beg."

There was a moment when he could literally see him weighing his options. Finally, with a sigh, he dropped to his knees and stared up at him with a scowl on his face. "Please, Malfoy, I need your help," he said, although it didn't sound very enthusiastic.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

"All right! Fine! I need you, Malfoy!" he yelled, sounding as needy as he felt, as he clutched onto his robes for good effect.

They both seemed to realise how loud he'd spoken and that his voice echoed. Draco looked around, noticing a few people were glancing at them curiously in ways that Draco would not want anybody staring at him, and he jerked his robes out of Potter's grasp. "Get off your knees," he hissed.

He quickly did so, blushing a little bit. "Yeah, sorta wish I hadn't said that so loud . . ."

"Yeah, me too. Don't really like the phrase much, either." They both looked at each other uncomfortably, then he narrowed hsi eyes. "Get this straight, Potter. I am not your friend. I"m not doing this because I owe you, or because I care what you think. I am doing this for him, becuase he's done a lot for me. Got it?"

He nodded.

"Well, are you going to tell me the plan or not?"

* * *

A/N--to my anonymous reviewer who complimented me on my reviews: thank you!

To Khelyia: Thank you for your review as well. I am trying to make it IC, and whilst I am not a huge fan of AU, I decided I would try my hand at it, and if I like it, I might write more. Thank you for you intelligent review; it was kind and thoughtful. I agree with you entirely.


	6. Sipping Heaven

Chapter 6: Sipping Heaven

"Why can't you do this?" Hermione asked Malfoy in annoyance as they walked towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts room.

"Why do you think, Granger?" he snapped angrily, glaring at her. "Not very popular am I? Why would any teacher want a former Death Eater anywhere near the Restricted Section of the library? I thought you were intelligent."

Although Hermione had nothing but dislike for the boy, she did find herself feeling sympathetic. Malfoy had obviously gotten himself into something he hadn't been ready for, and Harry had made sure everybody knew that Malfoy had had the chance to kill Dumbledore, and was going to lower his wand. Now, though, everybody treated him as if he had killed Dumbledore. They treated him as badly as they treated Professor Snape.

The sympathy she felt must have showed, because he sneered. "Don't look at me with those puppy eyes, Granger. You're not a dog, and I don't need your pity. It has to be you, because she won't give it to me, and it can't be your two lackbrain friends here--"

"Hey!" Ron exclaimed, obviously affronted.

"--because then Gregarson will think they're hitting on her. She won't think you're hitting on her. Well, she might, some girls are into that. Like Vector and Hooch, for instance."

They stopped in front of the classroom, and they all looked at Hermione.

Ron patted her shoulder encouragingly and smiled briefly at her. "Go on, Hermione. Just don't make it obvious, like you did at Borgin and Burkes." Hermione nodded and pulled her shoulder out of Ron's grasp. She ignored his offended his expression as she turned around and knocked on the classroom door.

"Come in," came Gregarson's voice.

"Wait," Malfoy said suddenly, "what was she doing at Borgin and Burkes?"

Before they could either explain or lie what had happened that day, Hermione slid into the classroom.

Even though there was a stack of uncorrected essays on her desk, Gregarson was reading a wizarding smut novel--one of the many that had used Gilderoy Lockhart as the model for the male on the cover--just as muggle smut novels often used Fabio.

"Professor Gregarson?" Hermione said tentatively, unsure if Gregarson knew she was there or not, seeing as her eyes did not leave the book she was reading, even though she had told her to come in.

Gregarson lowered the book, then smiled brightly at Hermione. "Hello, Hermione! Take a seat."

There wasn't a seat in front of Gregarson's desk, so Hermione just walked up to the desk and stood. Gregarson didn't seem to have realized the fact her request seemed off. The nagain, she could have been speaking figuratively.

"Boy troubles?" Gregarson said with the air of knowing all-too-well the troubles boys caused, before Hermione could even open her mouth.

"No, actually, I was just--"

"Ah, homework conflicts? Do you need help on your essay?"

"No, I--"

"Severus being a prat to you? Wouldn't surprise me."

"No!" Hermione snapped, getting a little irritated. Gregarson shut her mouth suddenly, and looked Hermione over like she was a disgusting bug on the bottom of her shoe. The woman acted like Hermione had done something offensive instead of the other way around. "No," Hermione repeated, in a calmer manner.

"What did you need then?" she asked.

"Well, I was just . . ." She eyes Gregarson's hair while she spoke, trailing off in mid-sentence just like Malfoy told her to. The effect was that she was so stunningly beautiful that her appearance took precedence over Hermione's problem. "You have amazing hair."

Gregarson touched her hair and primped it slightly, smiling. "Oh, thank you, Hermione! That was very kind of you!" She tossed her light blonde curls over her shoulder.

"I wish I could do that with my horrid excuse for hair," Hermione said, although she cringed as she said it. Malfoy had said that insulting herself would make Gregarson feel more superior. Apparently, women were more likely to trust a girl who either talked behind another girl's back or said bad things about herself.

Gregarson smiled. "So did you need something?" she asked, completely disregarding Hermione's self-deprecating remark.

"I needed a note saying I can go into the Restricted Section of the library, is all," Hermione said, smiling a bit.

Hermione thought that the compliment was too obvious a manipulation, and that there was no way Gregarson would fall for it. "Oh, well, I'll write a note for you, then. I hope you find what you're looking for." Apparently Hermione was wrong.

Gregarson handed her the note and she read over it, hardly daring to believe it actually worked. At least now they had something for her to compare her handwriting next to--it would be easier for her to forge a letter now. Then again, Malfoy would know what he was talking about . . . "Thank you," she said with a brief smile, then she left the classroom.

"What I was doing was none of your business! You nosy little berks!" Malfoy shouted, his cheeks slightly pink. Hermione froze. She knew what they were talking about. Her rounded on her and pointed his finger in her face just as the door fully shut. "And you! Saying I was your boyfriend! That is absolutely disgusting! As if I would date someone stupid enough to try and pull off that pathetic story!"

Hermione sighed. She really wished Harry hadn't gone to him for help.

* * *

"We could have done this last week," Ron mumbled as Hermione stood over a pot, while she made hot cocoa.

"When else would I be able to see his reaction, Ron? We have one day out of the week together."

She watched as the hot cocoa bubbled in the pot, and added more sugar and vanilla extract to it while she stirred. Ron watched with fascination. "Why didn't you just go buy some hot cocoa packets from the store, wrap it up in a bow, and hand it to him?"

"Because he's a Potions master, he would obviously value something homemade more. Besides, I despise packet cocoa. This tastes so much better. It's a family recipe."

"But shouldn't you have made him coffee or tea or something?"

"People make their coffee different. He's less likely to think of her fondly if the coffee tastes horrid, and I just don't know how he would like his coffee."

"Probably black," Ron noted with an air of deep knowledge.

Though Hermione admitted to herself that it would make sense, she wasn't willing to try it. After she stirred it for a bit, she poured the hot cocoa out of the pan and into the charmed thermos that would keep the hot chocolate nice and hot. She handed the thermos to Ron. "Now, remember, wait until I've been in his class for awhile, then leave it on the floor and knock."

"We'll be under the invisibility cloak," Ron promised.

"And don't forget the note or the mug," she reminded.

"We won't."

"Good. If this doesn't make her apology sound realistic, then I don't know what will." Ron nodded while he held the thermos in his hands.

Ron nodded, just as Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder, and left the common room. She missed how Ron stared after her wistfully.

* * *

When he heard three knocks on his door, Severus did not need to ask who it was, nor did he need to wonder. All he did was check the time. Five minutes early. "Enter," he commanded icily.

Miss Granger walked in, smiling at him. "Good evening, Professor," she said, like she did whenever she saw him in the halls.

He responded with a raised eyebrow, just like he did whenever she greeted him.

She sat down in the front just like the week before and then she put her bag underneath the table. He watched her sit there expectantly, a scowl plastered on his face, but she kept an indifferent expression. "We're making a Calming Draught. Instructions are on the board." He waved his wand, and then grabbed a stack of essays to correct. Normally he would have corrected them earlier, but then he would have had nothing to do whilst Miss Granger was there. Well, he supposed he could always talk to her, but that was likely to never happen.

Thankfully, she didn't say a word to him. He had worried that she might actually try and start a conversation with him at some point during their extra time together. That would just be atrocious.

After a several blessed minutes of pure silence, several hasty, yet loud, knocks sounded. Severus sighed. "Enter," he commanded. Nobody ever visited him, with the exception of She-Who-Barges-In-Without-Knocking, so he naturally assumed it was Gregarson.

Nobody came in.

Severus waited for a few seconds, then let out an annoyed sigh. He walked over to the door and jerked it open. "What?" he snapped, but nobody was out there. He looked down both halls, but saw nobody. Just as he figured it was some idiotic Gryffindor (probably Potter) playing a rousing game of Knock-and-Run in which he would take at least five points from, he glanced down.

There was a thermos there, along wit ha black mug and a letter. He picked all three of them up and sat at his desk, putting the objects in front of him.

"Who was it, sir?" she asked curiously.

He glanced at her. "Somebody dropping off gifts apparently."

"What type of gifts?"

"Ones that do not have anything to do with you, Miss Granger. Continue with your brewing." He glared at her until she looked away and focused on her Calm Draught.

Severus held the letter in his hand with a slight scowl, then read over it quickly.

_Dear Severus,_

_I am sorry for barging in last week. It was quite rude of me. I would have apologized sooner, but I was too embarrassed. I had to swallow my pride, obvious. I hope you can forgive me. I have made you some hot chocolate--it's a homemade recipe--for my apology. I hope you enjoy it._

_Sincerely,_

_Prof. M.S. Gregarson._

Severus read over the note again. There was something strange about it. Her handwriting seemed a bit shaky in places, something he attributed to fear of actually having to give him the note. Still, there was something odd . . . When he looked over her signature, he wondered why she didn't just write her first name down she was obviously comfortable with calling him by his given name. Her signature was loopy and feminine. It was one of those signatures that had such great, beautiful penmanship that he could barely read it, if that made sense. Perhaps it was the fact she hadn't wrote her first name that threw him off.

He took off the lid to the warm thermos. He sniffed it suspiciously, as he did whenever anybody gave him a drink. Then he poured some of it into a mug and drank some.

It was pure heaven.

He closed his eyes and let the hot chocolate stay in his mouth for a few moments, savouring the taste, before he swallowed it. The only hot chocolate he'd ever had was the type his mother had bought, which came in packets. He had always liked hot chocolate, but this . . . This was simply bliss. Not that he would ever admit that to her, of course, but it was still amazing.

He opened his eyes to see that Miss Granger was looking at him with a small smile on her face. "Is there a reason you're staring at me?" he snapped. He hated it when people stared at him.

"You just . . . looked like you were enjoying your drink is all."

"And if I was?"

She shrugged. "It was just nice to see you enjoying something."

He raised his eyebrow at her. Normally he would have insulted her, but really, there was nothing scathing coming to mind. It wasn't like she said anything insulting; she'd just made an observation. They both looked at each other for a moment, then, simply because he couldn't think of anything scathing to say, he replied with; "It is nice to enjoy."

"Well I'm glad. You certainly deserve it." She confused him. He had never been nice to her or her friends, and yet she found a way to be kind to him.

After a moment of silence in which she seemed to be waiting for him to comment and he thought of nothing to say, she titled her head to the side. "Who was it from, sir?"

"Gregarson. She was apologizing for her rude behaviour last week." Normally he wouldn't have said anything and told her to mind her own business, but seeing as she had been civil towards him, he decided that it wouldn't hurt to tell her.

"As she should. But I suppose she can't be too bad if she put forth that much effort too apologize."

"She wrote a note and made hot chocolate. It can't have been too difficult," eh retorted while he took another sip of his hot chocolate.

For some reason, she seemed to be slightly offended. "Perhaps gathering up the courage to actually apologize to you was the hard part."

"She's a Gryffindor, Miss Granger. Being brave is something people in your house tend to do too much of. Now I would appreciate it if you would cease wasting my time with your incessant prattling, and actually finish what you are here to do."

She opened her mouth to retort, but instead she (smartly) closed her mouth and returned to her potion, leaving Severus to enjoy his heavenly hot chocolate.


	7. Worth It

Chapter 7: Worth It

Severus sat at the High Table at breakfast the next morning, beside Gregarson. She had tried to talk to him a few times, but each time, he completely ignored her, or said something she thought of insulting enough for her to stop talking. He had no idea why she wanted to talk to him so much.

When she wasn't looking, he pulled out the warm thermos she had filled with her homemade hot chocolate, and poured it in his goblet, almost to the brim, then put the thermos back in the bag in which he kept his teaching supplies. Perhaps it was childish of him, but he was not giving up this easily. Just because she could make a dink that was nearly orgasmic did not mean he was going to let her know it was that good. Besides, if she saw that he'd saved some for breakfast, she might become a bit full of herself, and he never wanted to encourage big-headedness. And he imagined any woman Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew dated would easily become full of herself.

He glanced at Gregarson to make sure she hadn't seen him pour himself a goblet, but seeing as she was busy telling Flitwick something (Flitwick's eyes were glazed over, and he had a small half-smile that did not look genuine plastered on his face, as if forced there) she didn't see a thing.

When he focused on the Gryffindor table (as was his normal area of focus) he noticed that Miss Granger was looking at him. And smiling. The cheeky girl was smiling! What on earth could she be smiling about when looking at him for? Potter and Weasley must be saying something about him--that was the only explanation.

He narrowed his eyes at her and scowled, making sure to look directly into her eyes so that she knew he was glaring right at her. She blinked a few times and looked away. Good. That would teach her to stare at him like that. Glaring evilly in his direction was something he was used to, and whilst it bothered him, it wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as _smiling._

He took a long drink of the hot chocolate, savouring it again, closing his eyes, making sure to wait awhile before swallowing it. This was nothing short of perfection. How could something as simple as _hot chocolate_ taste so amazing?

Miss Granger was gazing at him again! What the devil was the matter with her?

Giving her another intense glare did the trick, and she looked away again, although he caught the fact she was smiling slightly, and she whispered something to Ron, who was sitting beside her.

"Tough day yesterday?" Gregarson said from his side.

He turned to look at her. Flitwick had excused him, and was walking away. Severus had a suspicion that he really didn't need to leave.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, I can't miss those glares you keep sending her way, can I?"

Severus scowled. Why would she be paying attention to how he look at his students? And how did she know it was Miss Granger he was looking at, anyway? "Yet you can miss the glares I send in yours."

She pursed her lips. "That was uncalled for."

He looked her over. He had another retort on the tip of his tongue, then he shut his mouth. She had made him hot chocolate after all. If he was mean to her, perhaps she wouldn't make him it again. A selfish motive to be nice, perhaps, yet he was growing tired of her stubborn need to talk to him. And he _really_ liked her hot chocolate.

He felt like a child.

"Perhaps," he admitted.

She seemed unsure as to whether or not he was being rude. He decided to let her come to her own conclusion. He could think of many hurtful remarks, but not a single nice word. How odd that the night before he hadn't been able to think of a single scathing reply to Miss Granger. It would have been more helpful to him had the situations been reversed.

"So, how is she doing?" she finally asked.

"It's hard to tell. I've only had her make one potion, after all. Judging by how much I know of her, I imagine she'll do well." There he was again, being too kind to the girl. Her furrowed his brows. "In her work," he added, as if what he'd said before implied he actually liked her. Which he did not. There was no harm in being honest. She was a rather good worker. However, he felt he needed to explain to Gregarson just what he meant.

"So you like her then?" she asked, although it sounded like she was uninterested.

"No," he spat as he snarled, looking over at Miss Granger again, who was looking up at them, only this time he didn't know if she was focusing on him or just the staff table in general.

"I didn't mean sexually or anything," she said, apparently assuming that his vehement reply was because he'd though she'd insinuated an affair. "I just meant as a student."

"I know what you meant, Gregarson. In case nobody warned you, I like very few people."

"Then why did you accept her for your little late-night study sessions?" she said with slight lilt in her tone. He caught the innuendo. This girl was as bad as a hormonal half-witted teenager.

"Why I do anything is none of your concern, Gregarson." Although he supposed he could have just told her the truth--that McGonagall made him do it--he felt that it really wasn't any of her business. "I still despise the little chit," he said, drinking his chocolate slowly while he glanced at her. She was now talking with her two friends and no longer looking at the table. Good.

"Severus!" she reprimanded, swatting his arm. Obviously she thought he said something else.

"_Chit,_ Gregarson."

"Oh. Sorry, I thought you said . . ." She blinked a few times when he raised his eyebrow at her. "Well you can't hate her that much. She's actually quite nice. She complimented my hair, you know. She wanted a note into the restricted section of the library." She was primping her hair and looking at her own reflection in her spoon.

"I assure you, I can. Whether or not she compliments your _hair,"_ he replied coolly. Being nice to her was harder than he thought. Perhaps he should just figure out the recipe himself so he didn't have to be nice. He wasn't a Potions master for nothing. Unfortunately. He took a long drink of his hot chocolate, somewhat saddened there wasn't much left. He would just have to pour more.

He felt so damn pathetic.

"But, she did so much for the war!"

"So did I, yet nobody has qualms over hating me," he pointed out.

She blinked a few times and she worked her mouth wordlessly for a few seconds, then she let out a sigh. "Oh, Severus, I don't hate you," she finally said, as if it were obvious.

"Good for you."

She sighed in exasperation. "Come on--you can't honestly hate her. She's a war hero, and she's friends with Harry Potter, so--"

"As if that gives me any incentive to like her more. I despise that idiot Potter boy more than anyone else." He started drinking the last bit of the heavenly chocolate she made for him.

"Oh, my God," she said epically. A bit more dramatically than he thought she should have. "Tell me you're not upset just because James married your precious love Lily."

Severus choked and sprayed hot chocolate all over his half-finished food. It wasn't the fact she brought up his love of Lily that upset him--although that was infuriating--it was the fact she had mentioned her in a condescending tone and snarled while she spoke.

His reaction had gained the attention of everyone on the staff table, as they had stopped talking and were now staring at him. A few of the students were looking at him, one in particular Miss Granger. She looked like it was her fault somehow, although he couldn't imagine why.

Severus coughed a few times, and felt Gregarson pat his back and rub it soothingly. He glared at her, then slapped her arm away. She actually reeled back, as if afraid of him, then he pushed back his chair and left the Great Hall, taking his bag of teaching supplies with him.

* * *

Hermione had been watching Professor Snape the whole time at breakfast, hoping that he would turn and talk to Gregarson. In fact, it seemed that she was more interested in their plan working than the boys were. Well, her and Malfoy. She glanced at Malfoy a few times and noticed he was looking too. But as for Harry and Ron? They were talking about the normal things they talked about--Quidditch, girls, and how boring/tedious school was. Hermione noticed that each time Ron mentioned his sister, Harry would get awkward and change the subject. Still, though, she wished that they were more interested in their plan working than they were. She found that she really wanted him to get with someone. She really wanted Snape to be happy. He deserved it.

He knew she was looking at him, though, and he kept glaring at her when he noticed. She couldn't help it, though. She wanted to see if their plan was working.

At first, she thought it had been. He'd even poured himself a goblet of the hot chocolate she made. She did sort of wish she could tell him she'd made it and not Professor Gregarson (she absolutely loved that face he made when he drank it) she was glad it was working in their favour. They even seemed to be having a nice conversation (when he wasn't looking at Hermione evilly, anyway.)

That was, until he sprayed his hot chocolate all over his food.

At first she thought maybe it tasted horrible and she felt embarrassed that it would taste so horrible he'd spit it out--but that didn't make any sense, seeing as he enjoyed it the night before, and earlier on when he'd drank it at the table. Then when he glared at Gregarson in a way that she had never seen him glare before (not even at Harry) she knew that Gregarson had screwed it up.

Perhaps they should have set their sights on someone else.

"What the hell was that about? Ron asked loudly. She looked at him. He looked as confused as she felt.

"I don't know," she said, remembering Gregarson's personality when she'd barged into his classroom. "She was probably just being an idiot again."

"You should go ask him, Hermione," Harry suggested.

Hermione scoffed. "And that'll go splendidly, I'm sure."

"You've got to spend one day out of the week with him, so you're basically our link to him. If he doesn't learn to trust you, we won't even get him with her. Or anyone else for that matter."

"We have Malfoy," she pointed out.

Ron chuckled nervously for a bit, then rubbed the back of his neck. "er, Hermione, guys and girls are bit different--we don't' really, uh, open up to each like that. Snape is a grown man--he isn't going to fall to his knees and weep to Malfoy. Malfoy doesn't really, uh, radiate sympathy, anyway. You, though . . ."

"He is not going to open up to me," she pointed out, even though it was entirely obvious.

"No, but the fact you care might make him open up to you later, probably about Gregarson, which will really help us. We've got Malfoy for the manipulative stuff and to know a bit more about Snape, I guess, but you're still the key person. You spend the most time with him, and you're a girl."

"We've been through this," she said, although she had the feeling that though she'd said it before, she was going to say it again many times. "But, I will go talk to him." She grabbed her school bag from under the table and stood up. "But if I get points taken or a detention, you two owe me."

They both promised they would pay her back although she doubted they would, and then she left the Great Hall to see Professor Snape striding down the halls, in the direction of the dungeons. He was quite a ways ahead of her. Although she strongly believed this would result in badness and regret, she hurried down the hall, feeling like she would rather die than talk to him.

"Professor! Sir!" she called when she neared him.

He turned to face her, looking at her with disdain. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

She stopped in front of him and worked her mouth, though nothing came out. He continued staring at her, waiting for her to speak her piece. What was she supposed to say? A few barely audibly nervously strewn-together vowel sounds fell out of her mouth, and his eyebrow travelled further up his forehead while she continued to stutter and make a fool of herself by not knowing what to say.

Once again, Hermione found herself speechless in front of her Potions master, who she knew to be good with words. This time, she didn't have any official parchments to save her, though.

After a few horrifying seconds, she finally said, "Is everything all right, sir?"

There was a moment where he did seem to understand, and he tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows. "What did you say?"

"I asked if everything was all right, sir," she repeated, a bit slower, although she felt even more nervous.

"Miss Granger, I--" He cut himself off, and kept looking at her, as if he had absolute no idea what to think. "Why does it concern you?" he asked finally, although suspiciously, as though she could somehow use it against him.

"Well, I saw you drinking your hot chocolate and then you spat it everywhere, and you left, and I was just . . . er, I was just making sure everything was all right. I know it can't have been the hot chocolate." That sounded a bit conceited on her part. "I mean, because you said you enjoyed it, I wasn't presuming or anything." Then she remembered that he didn't know she made the hot chocolate, so her previous statement hadn't been conceited at all. "I just meant . . . if everything else was all right."

He was still looking at her strangely, almost uncomfortably. It was like she asked him on a date, the way he looked at her, which was quite an odd reaction to be getting. "That didn't answer my question. Why does it concern you?"

"Er . . . because . . ." She felt her cheeks burn. If he wasn't going to tell her, couldn't he just tell her bugger off and take ten points? Dragging it out made it embarrassing. What was she supposed to tell him? "Because I want you to be . . . all right in . . . life and . . . other things."

Her raised his eyebrow again, this time he appeared amused. "Other things? Such as . . . ?"

Now he was just being difficult. "Good day, sir. I will see you next Monday." She turned around and hurriedly walked in the other direction.

"Miss Granger," he called. She turned around and face him, knowing she was red in the face. He smirked at her. It wasn't a pleasant smirk. It was mocking. "If you want to have some of the hot chocolate, all you have to do is ask."

She gasped. How dare he insinuate she just embarrassed herself for a _drink!_ She practically stomped over to him, and he appeared to be quite pleased with himself. "I _do not_ want a drink of hot cocoa! That is utterly ridiculous! To think I would care more about a _drink_ than _you_ is--is just stupid! I think a human being's problem takes precedence over _hot cocoa!"_

"Are you implying you care about me?" he asked, still smirking.

She opened her mouth to tell him that it didn't, but she realized that that would be a lie. If she didn't care about him, she wouldn't have wanted to go through with this matchmaker business. However, she didn't want him think she thought romantically of him--goodness no, that was just ridiculous. "Well, ah . . . h-how do you mean?"

He looked her over, and his black eyes sought her brown ones. She wondered if he was doing legilimency and if so, what for. She wasn't going to try and block him out. She had nothing to hide in regards to if she cared for him or not. Caring for his well-being was nothing to be ashamed of. It didn't mean she was in love with him or anything.

"Relax, Miss Granger. I wasn't proposing."

For some reason, that felt like a joke. She let out a little chuckle and smiled a little, relaxing somewhat. He seemed surprised, but accepting. "Well, I just . . . I think you deserve ha--" He looked like he might vomit if she finished her sentence, so she quickly changed direction. "I just . . . liked seeing you _enjoy _last night that I was upset to see you, well, whatever happened just now at the staff table."

For a moment he stood there, and Hermione thought he was going to yell at her and take points. Then he nodded. "I am fine, Miss Granger." Hermione smiled at him, a genuine smile, and it seemed to throw him off. Then he smirked. "It was worth it to see you make a fool of yourself."

She almost scoffed, but managed to keep her face blank of expression. "I'll see you next Monday, sir. I'm sorry for whatever Gregarson did. I'm sure she didn't mean it."

"I'm sure she did, and do not apologize." Hermione was now curious as to what she'd said, but she wasn't stupid enough to ask.

"Good day, sir."

"Come to my office Saturday," he said, quite suddenly.

She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "What?"

"Did you not hear me?" he said.

"Well, it's just--I mean, Saturday? Well, sir, it's just--Saturday is--"

"I have morals higher than to ask my student for romantic interludes, Miss Granger," he spat, assuming she acted as she had because she thought he was asking her to do something inappropriate. "It is for your apprenticeship."

"I figured as much, sir," she said. "You misunderstood. Saturday is my birthday."

"And you will have many more. You will be at my office on Saturday, three pm sharp." With that, he turned on his heel and swept down the halls.

* * *

A/N--Thank you to every single one of my reviewers, anonymous or not!


	8. Sexy Man

Chapter 8: Sexy Man

Severus knew exactly who it was when he heard the knocks four minutes before three, the time he had asked for her to show up. It was infuriating that she even managed to show up early on her own birthday. Somehow, he didn't expect anything less.

"Enter," he said. He was actually glad she showed up. Which was a first. Simply for their experiment, of course. He wasn't glad to see her by any means.

She came in, smiling. "Good afternoon, sir." How did she always manage to show up cheerily? She should scowl at him and cruse the very depths of hell from whence he came. She shouldn't be _happy_ to be there.

"Miss Granger," he greeted coolly, although he didn't really know why he felt compelled to. He figured it was the least he could do, seeing as she had blatantly admitted to caring for him the previous Tuesday.

"What are we working on today, Professor?" she asked as she sat in the desk that, for only being the third time, she had apparently claimed as her own. Up front.

He flicked his wand, and an envelope flew from his desk to hers. It settled in front of her, and she looked at it suspiciously. He stared at her. "I didn't hand you an envelope for my good health, Miss Granger. Open it."

"Of course," she said. "I'm just used to you putting the instructions on the board." he raised an eyebrow at her. What was she talking about? She started opening it and he waited. "I don't mind, of course. It's not like instructions on a parchment will be any different from on the board. It's just a change, is all, sir. You do have nice envelopes, though. Rather nice, actually. It must be something really advanced or special, I mean, to have it--" She shut up when she pulled out what he'd stuffed in the envelope. Her mouth worked for a second soundlessly, then she looked at him, her brown eyes wide and a small smile playing on the sides of her mouth.

He blinked a few times, not really knowing what to say. She kept staring at him, which was really unnerving. "Are you going to read it or not?" he spat, feeling a bit under the spotlight.

She blinked several times rapidly, then looked down at the card. "Oh, right. Of course. 'To you, on your birthday,'" she read aloud, although it was unnecessary seeing as he'd been the one to buy it. She turned the cover so she could read the inside. "'May all your birthday wishes come true. Have a pleasant nineteenth birthday, Miss Granger. Now quit your incessant prattling and get back to work. Professor Severus Snape.' Oh, that's sweet!"

Severus scowled. "I wasn't aiming for sweet." He had spent more time picking out the card than he liked to admit. He hadn't wanted to buy her anything overly nice. It was harder to find a card that meant absolutely nothing than it was to find one that would have made her swoon--had he been so inclined. There were cards that sang when the reader opened them, some that had poetry on the inside, others that were so achingly sweet he could feel his teeth rotting with cavities as he read them, and others that were just plain inappropriate to be given to his student, although Severus would have loved to see the look on her face had he bought that heavily-innuendo filled card dealing with certain farmyard fowl whose name can be interpreted differently depending on the sentence.

"Oh . . . Well, I didn't mean . . . I mean, it was nice, that's what I meant to say, sir," she stammered, closing the card. "I hadn't been expecting a gift, is all."

"That's rather saddening. I would expect at least Weasley to remember."

"Oh! No, no, I meant from you. I hadn't expected anything from you. I've never given you anything for your birthday."

"Do you know my birthday?" he inquired.

"No, sir."

"And that is why."

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I would, sir, if I knew it."

He raised an eyebrow at her, not sure if he believed her or not. However, a quick look in her eyes and he knew she was being serious. She was an odd girl. He'd found it rather entertaining to listen to her go on about how he meant more to her than a cup of cocoa. _Then again,_ he thought,_ she hasn't had a cup of _this_ cocoa has she?_ So she cared about him, and she would buy him a gift. That was something he hadn't expected.

"I imagine you would," he finally said. He didn't want her getting any ideas, so he purposely didn't tell her his birthday.

She waited for him to tell her, but when it became obvious he wasn't going to, she let out a little sigh. "Why did you get me anything at all?"

"You relayed to me it was your birthday. I am not heartless."

"Do you give all your students . . . ?"

"Of course not, Miss Granger. I have more important matters to attend to than to remember each of my students' birthdays." He could see the question forming behind her lips, but he wondered if she would have the guts to ask it.

But she didn't ask why he gave it to her. All she did was put the card back in the envelope and put it back in her bag.

Had she asked him, he wasn't sure how he would have answered. Was it because she had claimed to care for him? Was it because of what had happened between them during the final battle? She'd had her chance to kill him, and instead . . . Whatever the reason, he was not about to analyze it. There wasn't anything wrong with giving her a card.

"Thank you, sir," she said calmly.

He replied with a nod.

Then he pulled out the thermos of hot cocoa, the one that was charmed to keep his drink warm. He held it long enough for her to look at it, then he gave it a little shake. "Today, Miss Granger, we will find out how to make this hot cocoa."

She stared at him. She looked at the thermos, then at him, and she cleared her throat and looked way.

"Is there a problem?" he asked icily.

She shook her head. "No, sir."

"That woman may be infernal, but she makes the most amazing hot cocoa I've ever tasted. Far be it from me to ask her to make more, or to tell me the recipe."

"You like it that much?" she asked, the side of her mouth curling upward.

He narrowed his eyes. "Come here. Now."

She was startled, but he didn't care. It wasn't his job to make her comfortable. She came to him, brushing off her robes nervously. He took the black mug Gregarson had given him and poured some of the hot cocoa into the mug, leaving some in the thermos. He handed the mug to her, and she stared at it.

"I handed it to you for a reason, and it wasn't to gawk at it," he said after a few seconds. She looked at him, her face blank, and she went to say something, then closed her mouth. "I cleaned the mug, Miss Granger."

"Well of course you did! As if I would suggest you were _unclean."_ She took a long drink from it, closing her eyes to savour it, he assumed.

He realized how close she was standing to him while he sat in his chair. Their knees were touching. Her hand cupped the mug, her fair skin stark in comparison to the black porcelain. She kept her eyes closed, and when she lowered the mug, her tongue barely flicked her bottom lip.

He shook his head, half formed thoughts he didn't register leaving his mind abruptly.

"It's very good," she said quietly, handing him back the mug. She sounded odd when she spoke, as if she didn't really want to compliment it. Severus understood. He hadn't wanted to compliment it either, seeing as he despised the woman who made it for him.

"Still care more about me?" he inquired with a raised eyebrow, smirking.

She blanched and her eyes widened. "Professor, I--of course I do! That's just silly, to think I would--" She looked at him, saw that he was amused, and she let out a small laugh. "I think you enjoy seeing me flustered."

"Perhaps." He flicked his wand and a cauldron flew from the shelf and settled on her desk. "Sit," he ordered, and she nodded and quickly went to her desk.

* * *

Hours later, Severus circled the cauldron, finger trailing his lip in thought. He stared down at the bubbling cocoa, the scent surround him, almost overwhelming, while he stirred it. "What have we so far?" he asked to Miss Granger, who looked over the list they'd been putting down the ingredients on. 

"Milk," she answered.

"Damn," he grumbled. They'd been stirring for hours, trying to figure out what made this hot chocolate far better than any other he'd tasted. So far, the only ingredient he had distinguished was milk. And chocolate, obviously. But which type of chocolate? Baking chocolate? Melted chocolate? What?

"Sir? If I might . . . perhaps she added . . . sugar?"

He sniffed the cauldron, then lifted the ladle, pouring it back into the cauldron. He looked at her and she stared innocently back at him. Her hair was wild from the steam, her face flushed from the heat. She'd been uncharacteristically quiet the entire time; she never asked a question nor made suggestions, just did as she was told. It was nice to have her shut up for once, although he found it unnerving.

"What makes you say that?" he asked.

"Well, er, perhaps to sweeten it."

Before he could consider it, the door opened. Without knocking. That meant only one person. Severus turned and looked at Gregarson, who was walking in, her blonde hair bouncing as were her breasts.

"Don't you have something _brave_ to do?" he inquired, snarling.

She looked at him, her dazzling blue eyes meeting his, confusion etched on her face. "Huh?" Obviously, she didn't get it. Judging by the snort that issued from Miss Granger, and how she was hiding her mouth behind her hand, she'd understood it just fine. Perhaps Gregarson was just stupid. "Hmm, it smells amazing in here! That hot chocolate smells wonderful!"

"If you do say so yourself," he remarked coldly. What a conceited cow. She furrowed her eyebrows in puzzlement. He almost rolled his eyes. "Haven't we discussed what happens when you enter without knocking?"

She looked at him, then blinked. "Oh, yeah . . . Sorry, er, I was just . . . Well, I've been thinking about what I said on Tuesday, about Lily, and it was uncalled for. I'm sorry."

"I have company," Severus seethed, hating her.

Gregarson turned and saw Miss Granger. "Oh! Hey, Hermione! I didn't see you there."

Miss Granger pursed her lips. "Amazing feat. I was standing right in front of you," she said with a charming little smile that Severus knew was plastered on her face to hide her grimace. Severus found himself smiling ever so slightly at her remark.

Gregarson tilted her head to the side, as if she wasn't sure if she'd been insulted or not. She blinked a few times. "I guess I wasn't paying attention. Anyway, did you find that book in the Restricted Section?"

"Yes."

"Cool. Actually, I used a lightening potion on my hair. It gave me some highlights. See?" She used her wand to point at her hair. Severus hadn't noticed anything different.

Severus could tell that Miss Granger's smile was fake. "Hmm, it looks . . . lovely. I just love the . . . colour."

"I know! I think it brings out my complexion rather nicely. Anyway, I've got to get back to my reading. I was reading that new book by Ember Rose. I don't get it sometimes, but it's really good." She smiled at her, then turned to Severus. "The man sorta reminds me of you. Anyway, Severus, I just thought I'd come by and say that. I really shouldn't have said that. Lily was always nice to me. Peter had a thing for her. Kinda like you. But your thing was way . . . Er, more than his thing. He just wanted to bend her over and make her scream like a pig. You actually loved her. But anyway, I've gotta go. It sucks she chose James over you, but thinking on it, well . . ." She looked Severus over. His hands were clenched into fists, and it was taking an extreme amount of willpower to not hex her into oblivion at the moment. When her blue eyes finished giving him a look over, she grimaced. "Well, it sorta makes sense why she picked him. Unfortunate you couldn't have been all sexy then like you are now. Later." She turned on her heel and left the room merrily.

Severus blasted a vial at the door. It left green, oozing marks sliding down the door. Glass littered the floor below it.

"Professor?" she inquired slowly.

He waved his wand, and the glass reformed itself. "The potion was useless, Miss Granger."

"Er . . . No, I meant . . . What she said about Lily . . ." He turned a glare in her direction. Unlike Gregarson, she was smart, and she shut up. She shifted uncomfortably. "She called you sexy."

Severus went to correct Miss Granger, but then he realized that she had. He furrowed his eyebrows. "She did . . . Now that _is_ odd."

"Perhaps she likes you."

Severus furrowed his eyebrows, and a sickening sensation filled him. It was similar to the feeling he got right before he vomited. "Perhaps she does . . ."

"She did ignore your insult," she remarked. Severus looked her over. "I thought it was rather clever."

"So did I," he admitted. She smiled at him. He looked away. He didn't want to see her smiling anymore. It made him feel . . . strange. "However, I don't think she ignored so much as didn't understand."

"I think she's very pretty. And she's obviously . . . interested in you. How many people would gather the courage to come and apologize? And if you ask me, she sounded a bit jealous of Lily."

Severus looked her over. She was staring at him stubbornly, and her jaw was set. There would be no arguing with her. Besides, it wasn't like he was an expert in women.

"Perhaps . . . However, I am sure you are misreading things."

"Sir, she _called_ you sexy. I can't see how I can misread _that_ signal."

He felt rather uncomfortable. It wasn't that he minded being called sexy. It was who had called him sexy that bothered him. He didn't like her. How was it that the first woman to find him attractive in a long time was someone he wanted absolutely nothing to do with? How was it that someone who dated _Sirius Black_ found him attractive?

"Perhaps . . . she was lying. I doubt there is anything about me that she would find . . . attractive."

"Then perhaps you need to look harder. You have redeeming qualities." Severus almost dropped the ladle he held into the cauldron. He stared at Miss Granger, and she looked at him innocently, as if she hadn't said anything strange at all. "You have an attractive mouth, and amazing hands. You're quite handsome, in an artistic way. It's not at all surprising."

"I think you should leave," he said, looking her over with surprise. Did two women, within the space of a minute, call him attractive? Of course, Miss Granger was far more eloquent about it, whereas Gregarson had said it like an idiot child.

She still acted like she hadn't said anything out of the ordinary. "I'll see you Monday, sir. And thank you for the card. It was very kind." With that, she grabbed her envelope, her bag, and left his classroom, leaving him to stare at the door in awe.

It was too hard for him to contemplate the fact that a student he had never shown an ounce of kindness towards cared for him, and found him (as much as it bothered him to think about it) attractive. The fact that he was more concerned with his student finding him handsome than he was about his colleague bothered him even more.

* * *

_Persephone Meadows was an intelligent girl, and she had given up on love long ago. She watched as her close friends met and married their significant others, denying that she felt any sort of want to do the same. She told herself that she didn't need a man to complete her; that she was fine with her books and cleverness._

_So how is it that Somnurus Slade could make her feel so . . . enraptured? When she meets the mysterious, stubborn man with dark eyes that seems to be strongly disliked, she finds herself feeling things she swore she'd never feel. Can she break through his rough exterior? Can she admit that she, too, needs love? Books could never have prepared her for this tale of romance and love written by newcomer Ember Rose. _

"What is this rubbish?" Hermione asked, finally finished reading the back of the book Ginny had handed to her.

"It's called 'An Open Page' and it's by Ember Rose. Everybody's reading it. She's actually quite good," Ginny said, sounding a little affronted. "It's your birthday present," she added a little dolefully.

Hermione suddenly felt guilty for calling it rubbish. Had she known it was her present, she wouldn't have said that. Well she couldn't back track now. "Oh. It's just, well, you know I don't particularly like romance novels, Ginny."

"Well . . . I'm not saying you have to like it, but . . . Well, I thought you might. I know you like to read. Look how thick it is!" Hermione studied it again. It certainly was thick. Perhaps it might keep her interest. As long as it wasn't horribly cliché, like every other romance novel she'd ever skimmed through.

"I'll read it Ginny. But only because it's a gift." Ginny smiled briefly at her. Hermione glanced down at the cover. It showed--what else?--a ruggedly handsome (and shirtless) man (who had an amazing chest) that reminded her of Snape, if he were perhaps more attractive, and a rather curvy woman with long, flowing curls of chestnut, and wide, chocolate-brown eyes. The wind rippled through their hair (his long, black hair silky and sometimes obscuring his obsidian eyes) and her flowing locks waving behind her majestically. "Persephone Meadows? Somnurus Slade? That's sounds . . . odd."

"I like the names," Ginny said with a shrug. "So, how was Snape? It's absolutely rotten of him to make you work on your birthday."

"I don't know. It wasn't too horrible. He wanted to figure out how to make that hot chocolate."

"Oh, the boys told me about that. That must've been awkward. Did you tell him anything?"

"Of course I didn't!" she said, looking at Ginny as if scandalized. "I'm not going to jeopardize the plan!"

Ginny furrowed her eyebrows and frowned a little. "Besides, he'd probably kill you if he knew it was you who made it, and you just forged her signature, _and_ you got Malfoy wrapped up into the whole thing."

"I can't believe I got roped into this," Hermione moaned, shaking her head. Ginny just laughed. Hermione's eyes widened suddenly. "But I think it might be working! Professor Gregarson came in to apologize--she said something about, er . . . Something inappropriate, I gather," she said in a low tone. She didn't know if Harry had told Ginny about Snape being in love with his mother, and she felt a little odd going around and spouting off secrets that weren't hers to tell. "But she called him sexy, to his face."

"And he didn't kill her?"

"He threw a vial of potion at the door after she left. Actually, he used his wand to shoot it at the door. But he seemed a little odd. I don't think he believed her. I tried to push him in her direction, though--get him to think about her. He thought perhaps she was lying, so I told him that he did have attractive qualities, so now he'll believe her."

Ginny stared at Hermione as if she'd just told her the meaning of life. "You called Snape attractive and he didn't kill you?"

"Well, I didn't necessarily say he was. I just said he had an attractive mouth and nice hands. Which isn't a lie--next time you see him, look and you'll see--but I just didn't want him getting annoyed with her. She came to him and called him sexy on her own."

"Hermione, he probably thinks you fancy him."

Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes. "That's just silly, Ginny. I was pushing him towards Gregarson--I was agreeing with her! I didn't say anything first, so he'll have no reason to think I fancy him. Even if that woman is a horrid cow without any brain cells," she snarled. Ginny just raised an eyebrow at her, but didn't comment on how jealous Hermione sounded.

"So, er . . . Did he say anything back?"

"He just told me to leave." Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, then she paled slightly. "Oh, I think . . . I might have made him uncomfortable. He seemed a bit odd after I said all that. Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything at all! I was just trying to help the plan! Oh, I really need to start thinking before I talk! He was starting to be civil too, and I went and ruined that!"

"Civil?" Ginny repeated.

Hermione let out a sigh. "He gave me a birthday card." Ginny looked extremely stunned at the news. Hermione let out a long sigh, then shook her head. "Excuse me Ginny--I think I'm going to go to my room and die now."

Hermione grabbed the book as she went to the room, reading over the back. There was something about the book that gave Hermione déjà vu, but she didn't contemplate it for too long. Far be it from her to actually get that involved in some silly romance novel.

* * *

A/N--thank you to all of my reviewers! I got more reviews last chapter than I've ever gotten for any other chapter I've ever written! Thank you! You are all appreciated! 


	9. Courtesy

Chapter 9: Courtesy

"Oh, come on, Hermione," Ron pleaded while she slung her book bag over her shoulder, and she headed towards the portrait.

"No, Ron. I can't. I can't do my work in here with you two badgering me constantly!"

Ron grabbed her shoulder to halt her, but she jerked her shoulder put of his grasp, giving him a reproachful look. He flinched a little. He hadn't meant to anger her further. "Please, Hermione. I need your help. We need your help."

"No, Ron, I can't. It's Sunday night, and I have essays to do."

"But, well, with Gregarson callin' him sexy, she may as well wear a sign saying she fancies him, and now that we know this, we can--"

"Well maybe I don't want to do this anymore," she said, pursing her lips and glaring at him.

Ron blinked, astonished, his bleu eyes wide. "What? Whaddaya mean?"

"Do you know what I did yesterday for my birthday, Ron? Do you? I spent _hours_ in a stuffy, steamy room, trying to figure out how to make hot cocoa I already know how to make, because he doesn't want to ask her for more, and he doesn't want to ask her how to make it. My own family recipe! Do you realize how easy it would have been for him to figure this all out? One wrong word, one lie, one _moment_ where he looks into my eyes, and it could have ruined everything! I don't think either of you have really thought this through. And I can't believe I got so . . . so deep into it! This is ridiculous! I'm sure he can find someone on his own, if he wants to. Either way, I'm done with it."

Ron looked at her, at her wide brown eyes, and pursed lips, and saw how serious she was. He ran his hand through his red hair. "Hermione . . ."

"I'm sorry Ron. But I'm done with this. Professor Snape is more than capable. He's a grown man. He doesn't need three adolescents meddling with his life." She furrowed her eyebrows, as if in thought. "Obviously she already fancies him, and she's pretty straight-forward--I mean, she just called him sexy to his face--so I'm sure it won't be too long before she finally asks him out. And she's so perfect, I doubt he'll say no," she muttered. Ron thought she looked a bit bothered, as if she'd heard some unsettling news, but he couldn't fathom why she would. She shook her head slightly. "I'll see you later." With that, she left the common room.

Ron stared at the portrait, not really liking the fact she seemed bothered, but he didn't know why he felt that way. Feeling let down, he milled over to Harry and plopped down into the chair. Harry looked his friend over curiously, then at the portrait, then back at Ron. "What happened? I mean, obviously she went to do her homework, but you look like . . . she didn't reject a date, did she?"

Ron shook his head. "No, I just . . . I don't know. I just got a weird feeling, is all."

"So I take it she doesn't want to help today? It's all right, we'll just ask when she gets back. Don't worry. Eventually they'll get together, and we won't have so many essays."

"Actually, she doesn't want to help at all."

"Why not?" Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. "She's upset because Snape was making her try and figure out how to make the hot chocolate. But then she went on about how Gregarson will probably ask him out anyway, and he won't be able to say no 'cause she's perfect or something." He shrugged, trying to appear less bothered than he actually felt. Why did it bother him? "Oh, and she said that he doesn't need three adolescents meddling in his life."

"Four," said Harry, raising a dark eyebrow.

"Huh?"

"There's four of us."

* * *

Hermione was writing on her essay--one that was for Potions class, oddly enough. Why was it odd? Because she seemed to be thinking about that class more often that usual. She blamed it on the fact that she was brewing more potions than usual. There wouldn't be any other reason to be thinking about that class, nor the one who teaches it.

Someone plopped down on the seat beside her. She glanced at who it was then focused back on her parchment, then did a double take. "Malfoy?" He flashed a charming grin at her. It made her nervous, for some reason. "Did you need something?" she asked a few seconds later after recovering form her shock, although she really wanted to ask him what he was doing sitting beside her instead.

"No, not really," he said, turning the chair so that she was straddling it, arms folded on the back of the chair and chin resting on his hands. "Just came up here to get some privacy and I saw you."

"And you sat by me?"

He looked her over with a small snarl. "Who else would I sit by? . Everyone else here hates me because of something I didn't even do. It's like they think hanging around me might make them evil or something. You're the only here who hates me for me . . . and before the war ended."

She looked around, and noticed that a few people were staring at them. There was a Ravenclaw girl in Ginny's year--well, technically, her year too. It was so odd, having Ginny taking classes with her. Taking a year off to find Horcruxes had seen to that. Other than that, there were a few other students from various years, and they were all giving him dirty looks.

"I don't hate you, Malfoy," she said, dipping her quill in ink.

"Yet you're the only one in here whose actually slapped me."

"You were being absolutely horrid!" she whispered harshly.

"Anyway, I didn't come here to sit by you and chat. I still don't like you. I just wanted to say congratulations."

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him that if he didn't like her, then he didn't need to sit by her. Then she furrowed her eyebrows. "Congratulations? For what?"

She shrugged, unaware that the Ravenclaw girl (who was across the library) had looked up from her book and was giving him a very curious look indeed. Hermione wondered what that was about. There wasn't any way she could have heard them . . . she was probably just giving him a dirty look like everyone else.

"I overheard Potter and Weasley going on about how you're not going to help them anymore."

"And. . . . You're giving me a congratulations because . . ."

"Well, it's obvious Snape will find out, and you're not gonna be involved in the mess .Smart move on your part. Obviously Snape will have to ask us all questions--me, too, because I know Potter will rat me out--and you. But that's all right. I'll vouch for you if you vouch for me."

"You're being awfully kind."

"Not really. I need you to vouch for me, like I said. I'm dropping out too. I overheard them saying they were going to send Snape a poem in Gregarson's handwriting. Something from _Romeo and Juliet."_

"You know _Romeo and Juliet?"_

Malfoy gave her a 'duh' glare. "I was with Professor Snape, hiding in his house. He's a half-blood. He had it there. I read it." He furrowed his eyebrows. "You know, thinking on it, it was a bit obvious he was a spy, wasn't it?"

"Wait . . . You read Shakespeare? Why?"

"Well, it's not like I knew it was muggle, was it? Obviously I wouldn't have read it if I did. Besides, Shakespeare. Cool name." She didn't understand why he would think so, and her confusion must have showed. "You kill people with spears Granger."

"Oh," she muttered, finally getting why he would think that interesting. "Did you like it?"

"Not really. I liked _Macbeth._ I just didn't find that tosh romantic. And Romeo reminded me of Potter. So full of himself and over-emotional." He rolled his eyes. "I can't believe those two idiots are taking a poem out of a play where the two lovers kill themselves at the end. That's a great message to send to Snape."

Hermione sighed. Had she still been in with the two of them, she would have told them to do something else, but she had quit, so she was going to let them deal with their own consequences. Malfoy was looking at her expectantly, but she had no idea why.

"I don't imagine he'll find it very romantic," he added after a few seconds of silence.

"I imagine not."

Even though he was quiet for the next few moments--awkwardly quiet--he still sat beside her, straddling his chair, looking at her intensely. Even though she was writing on her essay, she felt very self-conscious, and uncomfortable, every time she glanced at him. Perhaps it was only because he had made her life a hell for the past few years, but she really didn't trust him at the moment.

He let out a sigh a few minutes alter. "Yeah, well, those two are idiots anyway. You and I have a lot in common. We're smart. We're not gonna take the fall, are we?" She dropped the quill and looked at him curiously. He smirked at her. "I always knew you had a bit of Slytherin in you. Leaving your friends to get in trouble while you do the smart thing and take off. It's about time you dump those two pathetic trolls."

"I'm not--I'm not like that. I'm not _taking off_ and letting them get the brunt of it! I'm not selfish like that, you know."

Malfoy blinked a few times, innocently. "Oh, sorry. That's just what it looked like to me. I didn't know. Anyway, when Snape asks about it, I'll make sure and tell him you chickened out. That you had one too many close calls, and you were too scared to go on."

"I'm not a coward," she spat, getting more than just a bit frustrated.

Malfoy sighed. "Fine. You just don't want him getting a girl. Whatever."

"That's not what--" she started, her voice raising. She remembered she was in a library and whispered harshly instead. "Of course I want him to have a girlfriend. His happiness is important to me. That's why I did all of this is the first place! I want him to be loved--but I just don't think that three--er, four--well, two now--the point is, he doesn't need us meddling in his life! I think Voldemort and Dumbledore did enough of that."

"So . . . You're comparing yourself and us to the Dark Lord now? Such a kind girl you are. No, I bet you're referring yourself to Dumbledore, because you think you're so damn better than us."

"No, that's not what I said at all," she snapped harshly. He pursed his lips and narrowed his grey eyes at her. She pursed her lips right back at him. "I'm just saying that he's more than capable of finding a girl without us pulling strings, is all."

"Granger . . . you do realize he's single, right?"

"So maybe he doesn't want a girlfriend right now."

"Oh, right, so you're saying that he likes being lonely, and you don't want to force him to be with someone. Okay, so it's noble. I'll tell him that you think he should be lonely."

"No! I don't think he should be lonely, and I don't think he wants to be lonely, I just said maybe he doesn't want a relationship! Why can't you understand what I'm saying?"

"Oh, so now you're saying you think he's above it all? I can't believe you're insulting him to my face! You know he's the only one here who cares for me, and here you are, calling him conceited! How dare you?" he spat, glaring evilly at her.

She let out a harsh breathe, teeth clenching for a second. "No, you're--you're misunderstanding--you're twisting my words around--"

"You know, I thought you were a good person. You know, if anyone deserves someone to love him, it's him. He's done so much for me, and he killed Dumbledore, and he worked so hard to keep up his cover, and here we are--well, we were--trying to get him to finally have some peace in his life, and you just drop it, because you don't think he deserves it. Because you think you're so much better than the rest of us, because you don't have a Dark Mark on your arm, or because you get good grades on all your essays so you don't give a damn about him maybe going a bit easier on us."

Hermione's cheeks burned. How was it he managed to make her sound like a bad guy? And now she knew that the boys were going to get caught with their stupid _Romeo and Juliet_ poem and Malfoy was going to spout off all of these horrible things to Snape, and he was going to think she really didn't care for him and that she had been lying that time in the hallway. "No, Malfoy, you don't--"

"You know, at least I admit to the fact I'm a prat. I'll admit I'm backing out because I don't want to get in trouble. That's selfish, I know. But you? You like to think that just because you're in bloody Gryffindor and you're friends with Harry Potter that you can do no wrong. Yet you do this to the man who practically saved all of our lives--who, by the way, has gone through much worse than either of us ever have--including your precious saint, Potter. You know exactly why you're backing out, and you know damn well that it's either cowardice, or because you're just a selfish cow who doesn't think he deserves it. And when they get caught--because I know they will; Gregarson is a pureblood, and has no idea who Shakespeare is--I'm gonna make sure that Snape knows just what you think of him."

He made to get off the chair, leaving Hermione spluttering, then he sat back down, and pointed a finger at her, his grey eyes fierce. "You know, I thought you were different than other girls. But now I see you're just like Pansy--superficial. Why does him getting with Gregarson bug you so much? Because he's not attractive?"

Malfoy was misunderstanding the whole thing! He moved to get off the chair again, but she reached forward and grabbed his arm. "No, wait, I--" He looked down at her hand in disgust, and she retracted her palm. He was standing there, looking down at her. "Please, sit."

He slowly did so, glaring at her.

"I just . . . Look, maybe it was a bit cowardly. I'll admit that. But it was mostly . . . look, I just thought it was wrong, you know, meddling with someone's life like that. It wasn't because I don't think he deserves it. I really do want him to be happy, Malfoy. But it feels so wrong."

"How can making someone happy be wrong, Granger? And I thought you were the brainy one."

She opened her mouth to retaliate. "Doesn't it seem a bit . . . manipulative?"

"Of course it is! Granger, you act like manipulation is a bad thing."

"Well, actually . . . it is."

"If that's what you think, then you're trying to persuade the wrong person." He raised a pale eyebrow at her. "Granger, everybody manipulates. When you tell someone they look pretty when they really don't so they don't get angry at you, that's manipulation. When you go along on a date you have no interest in and act like you're enjoying yourself, that is too. Making someone feel better, treading lightly around your mum because she's having a bad day and you don't want to get the brunt of it . . ."

"That's being courteous," she corrected haughtily.

"Believe what you want. But getting him with someone isn't wrong, and you know it, otherwise you wouldn't have been roped into it in the first place. Now, I'm going to tell Snape why I think you changed your mind, and you know just what my opinion on that is. But I'm backing out because I don't want to get in trouble. And you can't lie about anything I've said, because last I checked, you weren't an occlumens. Do what you like. But you know damn well why it is you really don't want him with Gregarson. And so will he."

Hermione stood up just as he started heading towards the door. She quickly stood in front of him. He looked her over with distaste. "Look . . . as much as I hate to admit it . . . maybe you're right. Maybe this is the right thing. But, you have to understand, Malfoy, I was locked in a room for hours trying to find out how to make my own recipe."

"So . . . you're back to helping?" She nodded. He sighed. "Good."

* * *

Draco knocked on the Gryffindor portrait, and the portrait opened. It was Dean Thomas. He looked Draco up and down. "Er, hey," he greeted. At least he tried to sound genuine.

"I need to talk to Potter and Weasley."

Dean looked entirely confused, but he opened the portrait fully and smiled half-heartedly. "Come on in."

Draco nodded his thanks at him, then walked in, feeling a little closed in. Though the Slytherin common could get cold because it was located under the lake, he liked it much better. The Slytherin common room was domed and had a slightly green tint to it, and it seemed more . . . elegant. The Gryffindor common room made him feel closed in, although it was about the same size. It was probably the colour scheme.

Several people were staring at him, with distaste etched on their faces. He scowled at them, giving them obvious glares, and they quickly looked away. He went over to Potter and Weasley, and pulled up a chair beside them, grey eyes roaming the area angrily.

"Did it work?" Potter asked quietly.

"Of course it did. I'm not an idiot. She's back in on the plan. But she thinks you're going to turn in a poem from _Romeo and Juliet."_

"What the hell is that?" Weasley asked, looking at Malfoy suspiciously, and fidgeting in his chair. Unlike Potter, Weasley cared about being seen with him.

"It's a play. Though I guess your mother couldn't afford to buy it for you, so you wouldn't know."

Weasley stood up, hand clenching into a fist, but then Potter put his hand on his friend's arm, and he sat down, his blue eyes focused icily on Draco. Draco smirked at him.

"It's a muggle play, to be specific," Potter added, green eyes sparkling curiously. "I wouldn't think you'd know about it. I remember Dudley had to write a report on it once over the summer. His English teacher sent home a bunch of Shakespeare plays."

"Look, I spent a summer hiding with Snape. He's a half-blood, in case you didn't know. He had it there. I guess he reads a lot. It's not like I knew it was muggle. Point is, she's going to come in here and talk about it, and I don't want you two thick-heads acting like prats when she comes in."

"So how'd you do it?"

"Easy. She's obviously smart, so I just acted like I was stupid. Smart people are used to people around them being stupid, so if you act stupid, they don't think anything of it, so I kept twisting her words around to make her decision be selfishly-motivated. You damn noble Gryffindors make it so easy. You all hate being called out on being like us Slytherins. At first, I thought she'd want to change her mind when she found out you two were being idiots by sending that poem, but it didn't work, so I embellished. It makes me laugh, seeing how easy she believed you'd do something so idiotic."

Ron narrowed his eyes angrily, and Draco gave him a dirty look back. Obviously Draco was better with his glares, because Ron looked away quickly.

"Thanks for helping, Malfoy," Potter said, and the odd thing was, it sounded like he meant it.

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Er . . . all right." There was a moment of awkward silence where they all seemed not to know what to say, and Draco was more aware of the fact everyone was staring at him than he had been before. "I hope you don't mind me being in here. I figured I could come on in if I wanted, since you came to my common room and knocked on our portrait first."

"You can come over any time you like, Malfoy, I don't really care," Potter muttered.

Draco opened his mouth to say . . . something, but nothing came out. After a moment or two, he nodded. "Well, I best get going," he said.

"Good riddance," Weasley snapped.

Draco sneered in his direction. He narrowed his eyes at Potter, deciding to take his anger out on him. "By the way, you owe me."

"What? We don't owe you anything!"

"Oh, all right," said Draco, with a dejected little shake of his head. "Guess I'll just go tell Snape then. I'll see you later."

"You told me you didn't owe me anything for saving your life, and I think that was a bigger deal than this!"

Draco scoffed. "Yeah, but you chose to do that. I didn't ask you to. You asked me to do this for you. There's a bloody difference."

"What about the life debt?"

"You know, that only works if you actually care about it. Personally, I don't. I shouldn't be obligated to you for saving my life. Sorta defeats the purpose."

Potter scoffed, then folded his arms. "Fine. What do you want?"

"I'll think about it." With that, he stood up, glared at Weasley, then scowled at everyone else around the common room.

He left the common room. He was half way to the Slytherin common room when he heard; "Er, hey."

He turned to look at who's said it. It was a girl. He didn't know her name, but he recognized her as a Ravenclaw. She used be in the year below him, but since he took a year off hiding, they now shared a year. It was very odd thinking about that. "What?" he said, none too nicely.

"I was, uh, in the library earlier. I saw you talking with Hermione Granger."

"So?"

She shrugged, then tucked her mousy-brown hair behind her ear. "I don't know. I just think that's real mature of you, talking to her. You know, they're supposed to be the good guys, but I don't see them trying reconcile. They just like to keep thinking of you as the bad guy, but here you are, trying to, I don't know, be civil. I just thought . . . that it was really kind of you. Everyone keeps saying all this bad stuff about you, but I think you were really brave. You disobeyed You-Know-Who. Not very many people do that."

He furrowed his blonde eyebrows. "If I'm so brave, then why does everyone say bad stuff about me?"

"Because no one wants to admit that we're all berks sometimes, so they don't want to associate with you because then they have to realize we're all a bit like you. You-Know-Who is dead, and your dad is in Azkaban, and you spent all last year in hiding. No one wants to feel bad for you because then they'll have to admit that not everyone who worked for You-Know-Who was a complete evil asshole and that, maybe, Death Eaters just strongly believed in their opinion, and so they talk bad about you. Because it makes them feel better about themselves. Besides, if they talked about how good you were, they might actually have to pretend to care that your dad is in prison and show pity, and nobody likes to hear about problems unless they are their own. It's the same reason everyone talks bad about Snape when we all know he was a spy. Besides, everybody wants a scape goat."

"Oh . . ." He looked her over. She smiled briefly at him. "I just . . . I don't really like being talked about and . . . Well, you know, cast out."

She blinked a few times, him noticing that she had dull blue eyes. "Maybe everyone you made fun of felt the same. Ever think on that?"

"Look, if you're here to give me a lecture--"

"I'm not. I hope things get better for you." She nodded once, then turned around and walked off, leaving Draco confused.

* * *

Hermione situated her bag on her shoulder so it was more comfortable. She was heading towards the common room, having finished her essay. Hopefully she wasn't too late to stop Ron and Harry. If they were going to do the whole matchmaker thing (and if she was going to do it with them, although reluctantly) they weren't going to do it half-heartedly.

"Miss Granger," came Snape's voice from behind her.

She turned around and saw him looking her over. "Yes, Professor?"

"You seem to be in a hurry. Curfew isn't for a few hours. Care to enlighten me?"

"Er . . . was I hurrying?" She hadn't meant to be walking so fast, but she just wanted to prevent Harry and Ron from doing something stupid.

He walked over to her, nodding. "Yes. Where are you headed?"

"Just to the common room, is all."

"I'll walk you."

"I'm not doing anything wrong sir. I swear, I really am just going to Gryffindor tower."

He looked at her curiously. "I never said you were. I merely offered to walk you there." Hermione hardly dared to believe her ears. "I need to talk to you anyhow."

"All right. Er, let's . . . go, then."

They both started walking towards the tower. It was extremely awkward. She tried to think of something to say, something that wasn't completely idiotic, but absolutely nothing came to mind. She found herself wondering why he would want to walk with her in the first place. She's only had three lessons with him, so it wasn't like they'd gotten to know each other or anything. Maybe it was because the last two weeks, she'd thought about nothing except Snape, considering their little matchmaker plan. It just felt like she'd spent more time with him than she actually had--but why on earth was _he_ walking with her?

When they stood in front of the portrait a million years later, she turned to him. "I'll see you tomorrow professor."

"Of course." She smiled briefly at him. His expression did not change. "What else did you receive yesterday?"

"Hmm?"

"For your birthday."

"Oh . . . Harry got me a book on the different uses for ingredients in potions . . ." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "And Ron gave me a necklace."

"You're not wearing it, I see."

"Well, no, he ordered it. It takes three days to get here, but only three _work_ days. Saturday doesn't count, and neither does Sunday. So it'll be here tomorrow. He apologized for it."

Snape looked her over curiously. "I imagine he did." She noticed his hands were behind his back. Was he uncomfortable as well? "January ninth."

"I'm sorry?"

"My birthday. It's January ninth." His back straightened and she noticed that he wasn't looking her in the eyes, but instead at her forehead, and his eyes kept flicking around the hall.

She nodded. "Thank you, sir."

He appeared confused. He stared at her for awhile, and it looked like he was going to ask something, but then he just nodded and walked off in the other direction. Hermione shook her head, then said the password, and went into the common room.

* * *

It wasn't that Severus particularly liked Miss Granger. She wasn't that bad, though. How could she be? When he had someone like Harry Potter (and until Bellatrix disposed of him, Neville Longbottom) there wasn't any way he could believably say that he despised the sight of her. But did he like her? Of course not. In fact, she was nothing more to him than an annoying bookwork who couldn't formulate her own opinions.

But then the wretch had to go and do what she did during the war. He remembered watching her fight off many Death Eaters. She wasn't stupid. Of course she knew those spells. Surprisingly, she acted quite well under the pressure of the war. So he knew she was capable of it.

Why she'd let him live, he didn't know. All he knew was that he'd be fighting some Hogwarts students (he'd only stunned them--he wouldn't ever kill a student unless absolutely necessary which thankfully never happened) and he spun around, sensing someone behind him. Perhaps it was because he'd been caught off balance, or perhaps it was because he'd been so stunned to see her, hair wild, curses flying from her wand wordlessly, but she managed to disarm him easily. He'd thought she was going to kill him--she had every reason to. He had killed Dumbledore after all. She even had her wand pointed at him. He'd deserved death. But she stood there, wand pointed at him, lips pursed, then she turned and went into the crowd of fighters after a few horrifying seconds.

After that, he'd been so confused by her. But it didn't end there, no. She'd openly admitted for caring about him, and she'd even complimented his appearance--which he would admit was extremely rare. Severus had never fooled himself into thinking he was attractive. In fact, whenever someone called him attractive, it normally angered him, for he felt it was a forced compliment, a false one, as if obligated. When Gregarson had said it, he'd been so angry with her for talking about Lily in such a manner he hadn't noticed it, but when Miss Granger said it . . . She meant it. She said it as if it were obvious. As if it was a known fact.

He knew she didn't fancy him. He wasn't stupid. Finding certain qualities attractive meant nothing in regards to feelings. It just caught him so off-guard. Severus may be surly and rude and biased--he had no fantasies about his charming personality, either--but he could not insult someone that complimented him so truthfully. He liked to think that every insult he dished out was deserved. He'd insulted Longbottom for being a dunderhead. He insulted Potter for being the insolent arrogant little berk that he was. He would insult Granger for being an insufferable book reciting know-it-all.

But he wouldn't insult her for being kind. What would he say?

He hadn't planned on walking with her either. He'd just acted on an impulse. He'd needed to actually discuss something with her, and he'd forgotten. The walk had been . . . uncomfortable for some reason. And in his feeling of awkwardness, he'd forgotten to mention what he'd needed to, and instead talked about birthdays. Normally he wasn't a forgetful man.

But he hadn't been able to get the little brat out of his mind ever since she'd admitted to caring about him, so it felt like he'd spent more time with her than he actually had.

And the whole time, he'd walked with his hands behind his back. And he'd been wringing his hands nervously. Why? He didn't know. But he hadn't wrung his hands like that since he was a teenager.

When he got to his office door, he saw the thermos on his desk, and remembered just what he'd been wanting to talk to Miss Granger for. It sat on his desk, taunting him. It reminded him of Gregarson, and that made him scowl. He would have to wait until eight the next evening to discuss it.

"Dammit."

* * *

A/N--thank you once again for all your kind reviews! I cherish all of them!


	10. Late

Chapter 10: Late

Severus glanced at the clock. It was two minutes to eight, and Miss Granger still hadn't showed. Normally she was three to five minutes early. He didn't know why he was keeping such a close eye on the clock. Why wasn't she here when she normally was? So perhaps they had only had three meetings, but it still felt wrong. She needed to be here. He'd even decided to start teaching her advanced material instead of just brewing. Why wasn't knocking persistently on his door?

There was one minute until eight now.

Where was she? Did something happen?

There was thirty seconds left.

Well, if she thought she could show even one minute late, she would have another thing coming! Severus Snape did not tolerate tardiness! She would be here at eight, and if she showed up any later, she would go straight to McGonagall and withdraw from her apprenticeship. Well, good. Fine. He hoped she was late. That's right. He didn't want her to show up at all. As soon as that minute hand went to one minute past eight, then he would no longer have to see her bushy-haired, annoying, know-it-all face any--

Knock, knock, knock.

"Oh, thank God," he mumbled, and realized that he'd been holding his breath and his eyes were burning because he hadn't blinked. He furrowed his eyebrows. "Enter," he called louder, so she could hear him.

She walked in, breathing heavily, a heavy blush on her cheeks. Her hair was wilder than normal, and her chest was rising and falling rapidly. He averted his eyes quickly. "Was I . . . was I late, sir?" she breathed, leaning over and holding a stitch in her side.

"Right on time. For once." She furrowed her eyebrows. "You're usually early."

"Oh. I was afraid I wasn't going to make it." She let out a loud sigh and stood up properly, then walked over to her chair and sat. She brushed her hair out of her face, and let out a few short, hyperventilated breaths. "I'm not very good with athletics. I should probably start working on that. I think my lungs are going to explode." She plopped her bag right beside her worktable.

He waited for a moment, watching her normal colour return to her cheeks and her breathing slow. She sat there, calmly, apparently nonchalant about the fact he was openly staring at her, waiting for her to speak. Finally, after a minute or so, he said; "You're not going to explain yourself to me?"

She blinked her brown eyes a few times. "Did you want me to? I mean, I didn't expect you to want an excuse or something. Sir."

"Normally, students give one to me without my permission. I care not for excuses. I'm just used to it. However, I wouldn't have asked if I hadn't been interested."

"Oh . . . Well, Ron and Harry wanted my help with something, and I lost track of the time."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You lost track of time?"

"Ginny and I were discussing something that we were writing, and she was wrong, and I was right."

Severus felt one side of his mouth lift. "Did she eventually see reason?"

"Of course. As I said, I was right."

"What were you two helping them with?"

"Writing something. Ginny's better at creative writing than I am. I'm more of a technical writer, I think."

Severus nodded. "Yes, you're quite right. She has a very strong voice, Miss Weasley. You have very little imagination." She looked affronted when he said that, as if he'd smacked her. "When was the last time you read something and enjoyed it?" She opened her mouth to answer him, then he raised his hand. "Let me rephrase, Miss Granger--when was the last time you read _fiction_ and enjoyed yourself?"

She worked her mouth as if to say something, then she shut her mouth and thought for a moment. He waited patiently, feeling quite smug with himself. "Well, I--I do like to read."

"You have little creativity, Miss Granger. No subtlety, no room for experimentation . . . It must all be hard, cold facts with you. Perhaps you should read a novel and get absorbed in it for awhile. There's nothing like escaping your world, even for only a day."

She tilted her head and looked at him, as if trying to puzzle him out. "Well, I always . . . I always loved Roald Dahl, you know. I especially loved _Matilda._ I was about seven or eight when I realized I could move things if I really concentrated, or if I got really upset over something. I thought it was because I read a lot, like Matilda. Of course, I loved my parents, I had a different life than she did--but I was always independent and loved to read. I loved fiction when I was younger, but as I got older, I suppose I just . . ."

"Stopped seeing the point of make-believe?" She looked at him, and she looked rather sad. She nodded after awhile. Severus smiled sadly at her. "We all do sometimes." She looked even sadder at that. "I also enjoyed _Matilda._ I was more of a fan of Edgar Allen Poe."

"You would," she said with a wide smile.

He wondered if it was an insult, what she'd said, but then he saw how her brown eyes were glittering, and he realized she thought it was interesting. "Do you remember the last thing you read that wasn't school related or non-fiction?"

"Not really . . ."

"Not even poetry?"

"Just yours, I think."

Severus furrowed his eyebrows and stood up, slamming his hands on his desk, making her jump. "What? You've been going through my personal belongings! You and Potter! Reading my personal thoughts! Again! How dare--"

"When we went to retrieve the Stone, sir," she added hastily.

He felt his anger slowly ebb, but he stayed standing up. He realized suddenly that he's just admitted to writing poetry by getting angry and yelling at her for going through his things. He had made a fool of himself.

"When I figured out what potion to drink. It was very clever of you," she said slowly, as if she knew that it was best for her to tread lightly. Still standing, he looked at her curiously. She cleared her throat. "What did you mean by 'again' sir?"

"Surely you know," he spat, glaring at her.

Miss Granger seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. "Actually, no, I don't."

"Potter didn't tell you?" He was surprised. He figured Potter would go straight to them, laughing hysterically about what a fool his father made him out to be.

"Obviously not. Did Harry read something . . . private? Or is this about what you were forced to show the ministry? Because, I can tell you, sir, that Harry hadn't wanted to be there."

"Surely he told you _why_ I refused to continue teaching him Occlumency?"

She shook her head.

Severus slowly sat down, feeling relieved. "What did he tell you?"

"He said you told him he was done, that he learned all he could. I figured that he just wasn't employing what you taught him because he wanted insight into his enemy's mind, but after Sirius . . . Well, I figured that made him take Occlumency seriously. Voldemort didn't invade his mind once after Sirius."

Severus scoffed. "The Dark Lord was using Occlumency against Potter, because he didn't like the pain Potter could feel. Potter is an insolent dunderhead who didn't even practice. He felt he was so far above it all that it would come as naturally to him as catching a Snitch. How can one learn it if he didn't try? You are right, Miss Granger, Potter did enjoy his connection to the Dark Lord--it made him feel _special._ Had the boy listened to me, perhaps his dear godfather would still be alive." He felt his lip curl into a snarl.

Miss Granger was staring at him. "I knew he wasn't practicing. I read up on Occlumency, sir. It's a very difficult branch of magic. I tried practicing, but . . . Well, I didn't have a proper teacher." She sighed and folded her arms over her chest, shaking her head. "Don't get me wrong, I adore Harry, but . . . that is so frustrating! I bet if it had been someone _else_ teaching him, he would have learned. Not because you're a bad teacher--no, you're probably one of the best teachers here--a bit strict and mean, perhaps--but because he doesn't try! Obviously--he did perfectly well with the Prince, but not in your class, which, actually, doesn't make sense at all since he _is_ you!

"We all tried to keep him protected--_you_ tried to keep him protected, and no offence, but you've made it pretty plain you're not fond of him--and he just . . . Just . . . I mean, it all worked out in the end, of course, but . . ." She trailed off, leaving Severus amused. She blinked a few times. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to babble."

"Potter is as arrogant as his father. Obviously he cares not for anything we do for him--he'll do as he pleases."

She sat there quietly for a moment, and he also sat in silence. Finally she cleared he throat and shifted nervously. "Why did you really stop lessons, sir?"

"I don't wish to discuss it," he said firmly, giving her as intense a look he could muster, so as not to give her any ideas.

He expected her to try and persuade him, but instead she just nodded. "Okay."

There was a long, awkward silence, where they both looked at each other from across the room. It was like something was pressing in on his chest. He didn't know what it was until a few seconds later when he realized that she had asked out of concern for him. She wasn't assuming Harry was in the right--au contraire, she had assumed he was in the wrong. She wanted to hear _his_ side.

And he wanted to get it off of his chest.

But he wouldn't.

"I thought you were going to be late," he told her.

She let out a sigh. "I did, too. I'm sure I looked like a complete fool, running down here in panic. I was so afraid you'd make me go to McGonagall."

"Alas, you were on time," he snarled, betraying how he really felt. He was choosing to ignore how relieved he felt when he heard her knocks. "I thought perhaps you were avoiding me."

"Why would I avoid you, sir?"

"Because you waxed poetic about my features the last time we met," he said with a hint of irony, smiling thinly.

"I most certainly did not _wax poetic_ as you call it! I simply _agreed_ that you are handsome and have attractive qualities! It isn't _my_ fault Gregarson came in here like a prattling idiot, going on and on about how sexy you are! Now you either have to deal with the fact that you have a nice mouth and hands and your voice is actually quite attractive and all that rot or . . ." She blinked a few times and seemed look over his face. He knew he was smirking at her. "You were baiting me! Why do you do that, sir?"

"I believe you described it best last Saturday--I enjoy seeing you frustrated." She huffed indignantly, then folded her arms across her chest angrily, much like she did when babbling about Harry. "If it is any comfort, Miss Granger, you were far more eloquent than a woman twice your age."

She looked at him as if she wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. He wasn't sure if he heard himself correctly, either. After a few seconds, she smiled a cute smile, then nodded. "It does help. But I was being honest, sir."

"I know you were." He smirked. "Legilimency, remember?"

Just then, there were a few knocks on the door.

Severus sighed. "At least she learned to knock," he aired with a snarl.

Miss Granger let out a small chuckle. "As I said, a good teacher."

"Enter," he said, hating his life. Why was it that _every_ time he was with Miss Granger, Gregarson had to pop in? It was getting annoying. And even the one time she didn't come in, she'd sent a present.

The door opened and Draco walked in with a slight swagger. Miss Granger looked at him, then nodded with realization. "Well that explains the knocking."

"Last time I walked in without knocking, him and Potter were having remedial Potions. I got in trouble for it. You learn quick when you have to clean bedpans for a week, Granger." Draco smirked at her, as if he'd imparted some invaluable knowledge to her. She just rolled her eyes.

Severus scowled at the memory. Had he known that leaving Potter alone in his office would result in him watching his private memories, he would have told Draco to bugger off, and wouldn't have worried about the Slytherin Quidditch captain.

"What do you want? I'm busy at the moment, Draco."

Draco shrugged, but Severus had the suspicion he knew all along he'd been busy, and Draco just chose now to talk to him so Severus would be less inclined to give him a lecture. Draco knew that Severus would want to finish his extra class with Miss Granger as soon as possible, and therefore not waste time on him.

Draco put an envelope on the desk in front of him. "This was outside when I got here." Severus looked at the writing on the envelope--it said 'To Severus' in the familiar handwriting he recognized as Gregarson's. He put it aside, then looked up into the pale, pointed face of his student. Draco's grey eyes flicked between him and the envelope for a bit.

"Well?" Severus urged.

"I've got detention. I'm supposed to talk to you about it. I'm supposed to have detention _with_ you, actually. Nobody else wants to spend extra time with me, so I was sent to you to get the dates set and everything."

Severus began rubbing his temples, feeling a headache coming on. "What did you do, Draco?" he asked, annoyed.

Before he could answer, the door burst open--without a preamble or a knock--and Gregarson strode in.

"What the hell do you want?" Severus snapped.

Draco jumped at his tone, surprised. A second later, Gregarson pushed Draco aside so she could stand in front of the desk. "Well excuse you, Gregarson," Draco snapped, making it plain by his tone that he was not pleased.

Gregarson looked at Draco like he'd said something extremely rude to her. "Watch your tone, Malfoy," she ordered.

"Watch where you're going, cow," he spat, looking her up and down in disgust.

"Ten points from Slytherin for that remark!" she exclaimed, looking scandalized.

Perhaps Severus only stood in because it was a Slytherin. After all, why else would he have? He could give a rat's arse about any of the other's house points. "Perhaps, Gregarson, you should show some respect if you expect some in return. I believe we've discussed this before . . ."

"He's a student, and I'm a teacher, I think that--"

"Perhaps your mother was a complete imbecile who knew nothing of manners, but I expect them. As such, I take it upon myself to teach you. When someone is having a conversation with someone else, you do not interrupt. And I believe we've had the discussion about knocking several times, and thusly . . ." He raised his wand, and Gregarson flew from the classroom, and landed in the hallway. He waved his wand again, the door shut soundly, and the audible click of the lock filled the room.

A few seconds later, with Draco sniggering loudly, there were a few loud knocks.

He waved his wand, and the door opened. "You are so infuriating, Severus! First you're charming, then you're annoying and a huge prat from hell and a git, and a biased asshole, then you're back to being charming! What is up with you?"

"I do not ever remember being charming," he pointed out, uncaring of her more accurate insults.

"Oh okay. And I don't have blue eyes that shine like sapphires or hair the colour of the glowing sun, either," she responded sarcastically. She cocked an eyebrow at him as if she had said something so intelligible and epic that there was no way he could continue the argument. Draco turned away from them and made to leave the room and Miss Granger started coughing for some reason.

He folded his arms and leaned his head back, so as to get a better view of her arrogant expression. "Indeed," he replied. He had a hard time understanding how anyone could be so full of herself she actually described herself in such a way during a discussion. "Draco, get back here, and Miss Granger, if you need a drink of water, please excuse yourself. Your hacking is distracting."

She'd only coughed a few times, so she was finished by the time he called attention to it. Draco calmly started walking back to the desk.

"I assume you came here for a reason?"

"Just to thank you for well . . . you know," she said in a lower tone, as if embarrassed to speak about it in front of two students. Actually, Severus had no idea what she was talking about, but at least she wasn't being her obnoxious self. She bit her bottom lip and tilted her head to the side, and lowered her chin a little, so that she looked like an innocent schoolgirl. Severus had to admit she looked extremely attractive like that. And very flirtatious. Pity she was an idiot.

Severus stared at her obviously flirtatious expression, still confused. He thought over anything he could have said or done to make her want to thank him and flirt with him. He noticed that she was idly drawing circles on the desk with her index finger, and her eyes were flicking between his lips and mouth.

Did the woman know anything about subtlety?

"Is that all?" he said, figuring that she was thanking him for not insulting the hell out of her at breakfast. He'd been busy thinking of him and Miss Granger's extra lesson, and what he could begin to teach her. And the fact she didn't run screaming down the hall when he'd asked to walk her to the common room. Which had been entirely for the purpose of telling her something, which he'd forgotten.

She blinked a few times, as if he'd smacked her. She looked around at the two students, then got a knowing look in her eyes. "Well . . . No, actually. Hermione has two gifts. One from Ron Weasley, the other from him." She jerked her head in Draco's direction, who was actually just a little bit behind her. Draco gave the back of her head an inappropriate hand gesture which Severus chose to ignore. He noticed Miss Granger smiled at Draco, and the two of them smirked at each other. They were _sharing_ a look of amusement.

"And?" he urged on, although he wasn't really paying attention anymore. Why had she smiled at Draco? Had she smiled because he'd used that hand gesture when Gregarson couldn't see it? Was she . . . amused that he was being rude to a teacher? That was most unlike her . . .

"Well, as you know, whenever a student is getting sent a package, it automatically goes to that student's head of house, you know, to check it and what not. That's why I have it."

Did she fancy Draco? He had smiled back. Did they fancy _each other?_ For some reason the thought of that made Severus snarl, and he glared evilly at Gregarson, suddenly very irritated. "And did you check it, do the proper security measures, or did you just hand it over to me so I would do it for you?"

"No, I gave it to you because I knew Hermione was here. Hello, every Monday at eight? Well, except for Saturday--you two were making, like, the best-smelling hot chocolate ever."

"Incredibly humble of you," he remarked, snarling, giving her a look over.

"Yeah, I know, I decided to bring it to her directly." She was _such_ an idiot. "But no, I didn't do the security checks or anything. Like anybody is going to send her a cursed present. Honestly."

"You mean you didn't even check it for simple curses?" he asked.

Gregarson looked at him as if he'd said something rather stupid. "No, I didn't."

Draco scoffed lightly behind her.

"McGonagall _did_ tell you why that's procedure, didn't she?" Severus inquired.

"She said something about a necklace trying to kill a girl, but really, I think she was just making up lies. It's a waste of my time."

"A waste of your time?" Draco exclaimed from behind her. Gregarson jumped, as if she'd forgotten he was there. "Student safety is a waste of your _time?_ How the hell did you become a teacher? Honestly." Gregarson looked like she'd been slapped. She went to talk, but Draco continued. "For your information, Gregarson, that necklace story is true."

"Did you see it?" she asked with an arrogant smirk, as if trying to prove him wrong.

"No, but she did," he answered, pointing at Miss Granger. "And so did Saint Potter and his sidekick the Weasel. Guess what else managed to get smuggled in? Poisoned butterbeer. It's probably still floating around somewhere."

Gregarson scoffed.

"Name off the two people who gave Granger a gift. Go on."

"Ron Weasley and you."

"Me. A Malfoy. Sending a _mudblood_ a gift. You don't think that's odd? For all you know, I gave her the same cursed necklace. Or even poisoned chocolates."

"Okay, uh, did you?"

"Like I'd tell you," he retorted. "But I suppose when Granger drops dead, it'll be all your fault because you didn't check. In fact, if those aren't poisoned, I'm going to started sending in cursed objects--and you _know_ I can get them--and send them to random Gryffindors so I know if you'll check it out or not. If students start dying, it'll be your fault."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," he drawled, one side of his mouth lifting and his grey eyes widening.

There was a long silence, in which Severus looked between them. Normally he would have stopped the argument, but it was his favourite student arguing with his least favourite colleague, so he decided to let it slide. He was calculating a way to add points to Slytherin later on for this incident . . . Perhaps for giving Granger a gift, that wouldn't seem odd to just randomly give points for . . .

Finally Gregarson laughed warily and shifted. She was obviously unsure about what Draco had said. In fact, Severus was unsure if he was serious or not. "You know what? Security's pretty tight. I'm sure nothing cursed would even get to the school for me to check it anyway."

"Does the name Dumbledore ring any bells for you? Do you remember him? You know, he was the previous headmaster. Until he _died."_

"That's enough, Draco," Severus ordered, glaring at his pupil.

Draco glanced at him, apparently understanding why Severus wouldn't want that particular issue brought up. Draco nodded at him.

But Gregarson had to push it. "Yeah, but that was planned. Duh. Security had nothing to do with it."

"Right, Dumbledore planned a herd of Death Eaters taking over the castle, putting the lives of several students in jeopardy. Of course."

"That's not what I meant," she said dully, shifting uncomfortably.

"Well, you must remember how tight security was that year--it was all over the papers, remember?"

"Yeah, it was. They just didn't want parents pulling out their kids, so they made sure _everyone_ knew how good the security was here," she said, as if talking to a child.

Draco smirked at her in that cocky way that he and his father both had--the way they smirked when they knew they were about to win an argument. "Well, if a sixteen-year-old boy can smuggle in a cursed necklace that kills people, poisoned butterbeer, and an army of Death Eaters when the security is that tight, I'm pretty sure an imbecilic moron can get in a few poisoned chocolates now."

She towered over him. "How do you know a sixteen-year-old boy did that?" she sneered.

"'Cause I'm the one who did it." He stood straighter, so that they were nose to nose. Gregarson actually stepped away from him, obviously frightened.

Gregarson was obviously terrified. She fished around in her robes, pulled out two packages, put them on Severus' desk, then started towards the door to leave.

"Gregarson," Draco said before she opened the door. She turned to face him. Draco was facing the door, so Severus couldn't really see his expression, but he knew he was smirking evilly. "I'll be sending cursed items to make sure you check them--anyone dies . . . it's on your head. I'm giving you a fair warning."

She stared at him, face paling, then she snapped the door shut.

"Are you really going to do that?" Miss Granger asked.

"What? Are you daft, Granger? Of course I'm not! But now she'll do her damn job, won't she?" She looked rather relieved. "Besides, everything Dark got taken from my house anyway, thanks to your future father-in-law. Anyway, to my original topic of discussion . . ." He turned on his heel, and faced Severus. "The Muggle Studies professor gave me a detention for being late."

"You're taking Muggle Studies?" Miss Granger piped up.

Draco sighed, then glanced at her, turning slight so he could get a better look of her. Severus sighed. They were never going to start their lesson, were they? "McGonagall said I had to. It was mandatory for me."

She nodded, accepting that. Nobody in the room needed to ask why McGonagall would make him take that class. "How late were you?"

"About ten seconds."

"But . . . When I had her, she was extremely lenient! She wouldn't even take points for tardiness unless you were at least five minutes late."

"Why on earth were _you_ taking that class?" he demanded. Severus could ask the same thing. Miss Granger blushed and looked away from them. Draco scoffed. "Doesn't matter. Let's think, Granger. Why would a muggle studies professor give _me_ an unfair detention?"

Miss Granger looked at him with pity etched all over her face. "Oh . . ."

Draco turned back to Severus, and he noticed that Draco looked rather upset over something. His eyes shifted and he frowned a little. He looked . . . vulnerable. Only for a moment, though. "So send me something when you have a detention ready for me." He turned around and headed towards the door. Before he left, he said; "Enjoy your gift Granger. Tell everyone I got it for you."

Then the door shut sharply behind him.

He looked at the two gifts. The one from Draco was larger than the one from Mister Weasley.

"Are you going to check them, sir?" Miss Granger inquired.

"No, I'll just hand them over to you and hope for the best," he responded coolly. He glanced at her to see her reaction, wondering if she was taking him seriously or not. When she bowed her head a little and he saw the tiny smile, he realized she knew he was being sarcastic.

He checked Mister Weasley's gift first, which was actually a bit time consuming so he did understand why Gregarson didn't want to do it. After the lengthy process, he went and checked Draco's, managing to keep the wrapping on.

"It was kind of Draco to get me a gift," she stated. Severus turned a glare in her direction, and he noticed she looked thoughtful. "Of course, the fact he gave me--a muggleborn--a gift just to make himself look better sort of overshadows that fact. But he deserves it. I'll make sure to let as many people know . . . Even if it's just going along with his manipulation. But . . . people are rather rude to him. So I'll play along."

Severus almost smiled at her. He was staring at her. "That is . . . very noble," he pointed out quietly. She smiled at him and he felt an odd sensation in his chest area. "As it is, there's nothing wrong with your gifts." He grabbed them and stood away from his desk, walking over to hers.

"You got something, too. A letter of some kind," she reminded as she took the gifts from him and placed them on her desk delicately.

He was standing by her desk still, so he glanced at the envelope on his surface. He snarled. "Yes. From Gregarson."

"She seems . . . er, nice."

"I don't need to perform legilimency in order to tell that you're lying for that one," he told her and glanced down at her. She was glancing up at him. He raised an eyebrow at her.

Miss Granger let out a small sigh. "Well, she bothers me, but she seems to really like you."

He nearly rolled his eyes. "Open your gifts," he commanded, then strode off to his desk. He didn't sit, though. He picked up the envelope and opened it, pulling out a piece of parchment. He leaned against his desk before he read it.

_With eyes intense like the darkest coal_

_That easily stare into my soul_

_A silky voice that lives in my mind_

_And the most elegant hands a girl can find_

_You capture my senses in a profound way_

_Leaving me without a word to say_

_Whatever I feel when I'm with you_

_Is more than what the rest could do_

_--Prof. M. S. Gregarson_

Severus reread through the poem several time. It was a rather nice poem--better than what he expected from someone such as her--but he wasn't quite sure what he felt. He wasn't used to woman throwing themselves at him, flirting with him as Gregarson was clearly doing . . . The poem showed a side to her he hadn't realized she had--a side that wasn't concerned solely with her.

"What is it?" she asked curiously.

He looked at her, then put the poem down on his desk. "A poem. It's . . . written rather well . . ."

"Oh?" She sounded more interested than he had expected her to be.

"Surprisingly." He looked at her two unopened gifts, and he realized she'd been watching him read the poem. He felt a little strange. "I did tell you to open your gifts, Miss Granger."

She started, as if she'd forgotten. "Oh, right." He watched as she opened Draco's first. She put the wrapping paper in her bag, then picked up and examined the book--it was a thick, red journal, and when she turned it around so she could see the back, he saw the front--her name was emblazoned on the cover in gold. She flipped through the pages--which he noticed were blank, and were naturally made of expensive parchment. "It's a journal! This is very nice. Far nicer than I expected from him, seeing as it's just to make him look good . . ."

"He's a Malfoy," Severus pointed out. "Everything he buys will naturally be expensive."

She nodded, then set it aside, a small smile on her face.

Severus eyed the small package. She had told him on Saturday--her birthday--that Ron had told her he bought her a necklace, and he assumed that was it. "From your . . . fiancé?" he noted, noticing the wary tone in his voice.

"Hmm? No, Ron and I are just friends."

"Draco said 'future father-in-law' in regards to Arthur Weasley."

"And I expect he was just being his usual self. Ron and I are simply friends, nothing more," she stated firmly, as if daring him to contradict her.

Severus nodded, then folded his arms over his chest. He waited for her to open the gift. She did so carefully, putting the wrapping in her bag again, then opening the small box. She pulled out the necklace--pearls. Real pearls. Severus wondered how Weasley had managed to pay for them.

Miss Granger's eyes sparkled, but he noticed she looked a little worried when she looked at them. Or at least thoughtful.

"Pearls, Miss Granger? Are you sure you two are purely platonic?"

She cast a wary glance at him, then smiled nervously. She didn't' answer his question, but instead tossed her hair behind her shoulder and tried putting on the necklace. He waited for her to finished, watching as he bit her lip in concentration. He waited a bit longer, and watched as her brows steadily furrowed more with each second.

Just as he realized she was taking a longer time than she needed, she whispered; "Damn."

She held the pearl necklace in her hands, staring down at it as if it had insulted her. "Not very dextrous, are you?" he said coldly with a smirk.

She glared at him briefly, then tried to put the necklace on again, biting her lip again, brows furrowed. Severus was staring at her bottom lip, watching as her teeth worried the soft pink flesh there . . . Honestly, it was a wonder the girl didn't constantly have chapped lips . . . not that he worried himself with such matters.

"Damn!" she whispered, a bit more harshly than last time, and looked at the necklace again, using her thumb and forefinger to open the small clasp. "I've always hated these clasps. Honestly, why do men think all women want necklaces? Have I once worn jewellery? I always hated it when Mum made me wear a necklace for pictures, and this is why. Besides, I don't really like jewellery." She tried a third time, biting her lip again, taking in a deep breath. "It was sweet of him, though, so don't tell Ron."

"Being as that was what I intended to do," he murmured, tapping his foot slightly in irritation.

She chuckled a little, then pursed her lips and held the necklace in her hand again, glaring at it. "Stupid clasp," she grumbled, then made to do it again.

"Get out of the desk, Miss Granger," he ordered, in a clipped tone.

"What?"

"Do it," he snapped. "We have much to do today, and I don't fancy spending the rest of our time watching you fail dismally at putting on a necklace." She set the necklace down on the desk and stood out of the chair, waiting patiently for more orders. He stopped leaning against he desk, then indicated for her to come to him by jerking his index finger a few times in his direction. She started over to him, and he sighed. "Bring the necklace, Miss Granger."

She nodded, a blush on her cheeks, then she grabbed the necklace and started over to him. He held out his hand wordlessly. She put it in his palm, standing in front of him. He indicated for her to turn with a twirl of his index finger.

Blushing, she turned around, then held up the back of her hair with her hand. With an agitated sigh, he lopped it around her throat, then held the clasps in his hand. He connected the clasps, and got a whiff of her hair. Whatever the scent of her shampoo mixed with her perfume was, it was nearly intoxicating. It was faint, so he knew she didn't over-do it . . . but it was nice.

"There," he said when it snapped together.

She turned around, her cheeks a faint shade of pink, eyes facing downward in embarrassment as her bushy hair fell back past her shoulders. He realised they were nearly toe-to-toe. She was so close to him. Uncomfortably closer, with the desk pressing against the small of his back. She glanced up at him, and when her brown eyes met his black ones, it was like a sharp, sudden . . . Jolt went through his chest, as if stabbed. But the feeling wasn't unpleasant--perhaps a bit disorienting.

"Thank you, sir," she mumbled, her eyes still on his, and he wished she would look away.

But she didn't. They looked at each other, and he felt . . . strange. Why wouldn't she look away?

He quickly turned away from her and went behind his desk, forcing himself to break the eye contact. It bothered him for some reason. He sat behind his desk, for some reason feeling a little light-headed. She sat back down at her desk.

They looked at each other, and he plucked the poem off of his desk, glancing through it once more, just to get him mind off of whatever the hell had just happened before he spoke to his student again. This rather eloquent poem managed to do it nicely, reminding him of the annoying Gregarson. She seemed to be better at writing than speaking.

"You seem to like it," she noted again.

He glanced at her. "It's better than I would expect from her." He threw the parchment aside. "Of course, if she wouldn't sign it as if it were a permission slip, it would be far better." He snarled. "I'm not one of her students."

"Well, perhaps it's because you call her Gregarson, as if she is?" she suggested innocently, and he noticed she was putting Draco's gift in her back. Severus furrowed his eyebrows. That _did_ make sense. "What is her name, anyway?"

"Meredith Susan," he answered.

She nodded slowly, then looked back at him. "So . . . what are we doing today? Sir?"

Severus sighed, glad that they were finally on track. He'd rather be teaching her advance potion techniques then smelling her hair and putting on her necklace. Although, thinking back on it, it didn't bother him as much as it should have.

* * *

A/N--Meredith Susan . . . Meri Su . . . Mary Sue . . . Sue-bash! HAH!


	11. Like and Dislike

Chapter 11: Like and Dislike

Severus looked her over, seeing how patiently she waited for his instructions. "Today, we will not be brewing--but I will be discussing the different properties of certain ingredients. Knowing what to add to the potion is not all it takes to become a Potions master--or mistress, as the case may be. One must know _why_ we are adding it. This, Miss Granger, is what the Prince did." As he spoke, he casually folded up the parchment with the poem on it, put it back in the envelope, and put it in a drawer in his desk.

"Sir? May I ask you something?"

He looked at her, eyeing the brand new pearls on her throat. He wouldn't have gone for pearls with Miss Granger. He would have gone with a thin silver chain with a crystal chain dangling from it. Not that he cared about that sort of thing. He wouldn't have bought her jewellery in the first place.

He outlined his lip with his finger, thinking. Should he allow her to ask a question? Or would that waste more of their time? With a sigh, he nodded. "You may."

"Why do you refer to the Prince as if he's someone else?"

Severus opened his mouth to speak, then he furrowed his eyebrows. He honestly didn't know. "Let's not bother ourselves with such things, Miss Granger. Whoever I was when I attended school here is not who I am anymore. Obviously. You said so yourself--Potter seemed to _like_ the Prince."

"Because he wasn't being biased, sir."

"Perhaps. But I doubt that is so. How did you feel about the Prince?"

"I despised him," she said bluntly.

"Hardly surprising. He was better than you." She spluttered for a moment, but he knew she wouldn't be able to deny the truth. She hadn't liked the Prince because he was better than she was--he might not know much about the girl before him, but he knew that at least. "Perhaps we are the same--I doubt you feel much different about me."

"We've been through this, sir. I care about you."

"That is not the same as liking me," he spat angrily, glaring at her. "Caring for my well-being is different. We all know how I feel about Potter. Yet I did my best to protect him." She looked like she was about to defend Potter, but he forestalled her. "Do you _like_ me Miss Granger? Or do you simply _tolerate_ me?"

"I like you," she stated proudly, straightening her posture in her chair, looking resolved.

He looked at her eyes--she was being serious. She didn't hate him.

He didn't know how to respond to that.

"Let's continue with our lesson," he said after a long while of them just staring at each other. "And there will be no more interruptions, understand? Stop your incessant prattling. I will not have fruitless conversation. I am not your _friend._ I am your _professor_ and as such, we will only discuss what I am teaching you. Despite what you may think of me, I don't like you in return." He glared at her icily, his voice dripping with malice. He knew he was just trying to hurt her.

And judging by her appearance, he succeeded.

"Yes, sir," she mumbled quietly.

* * *

Severus watched as Miss Granger finished up her notes around three hours later. He'd been as cruel as possible while teaching her, waiting for her to respond. He was brisk in what he said. He waited for her to raise her hand and ask a question, but she remained silent. Her lips stayed pursed. Her eyes shimmered, but no tears fell. When he fell silent to allow her to catch up in her notes, he felt the silence stretch . . . and he wondered if she felt how awkward it was, as it certainly hadn't gone unnoticed by him.

But she never spoke. Not once. She merely wrote her notes, and listened to him talk of the different uses of multiple ingredients, why they were used in different potions, and such.

He felt bitter. He felt angry. Why had he asked that stupid question? It had been rhetorical! Had it? Either way, he definitely hadn't expected her to say she actually liked him.

Well, he would put an end to that. He didn't like her. He'd even told Gregarson that he didn't. She was a good student, but that didn't mean he liked her.

So then why did he feel horrible?

He'd been far worse to her than he had been just a few minutes ago. He'd blatantly insulted her teeth in her fourth year, and he'd called her an insufferable know-it-all in her third . . . Not to mention the snide comments he'd written on her papers over the years . . . And how he always ignored her cheerful greeting whenever they passed in the hall . . . He never once felt horrible about it before.

So why now?

Was it because he knew she actually liked him (as a student likes a professor, in no other way he was sure) whereas before he assumed she hated him just like her friends did, and she was just too nice to be open about it?

"That will be all, Miss Granger. I want twenty inches next week on what we have discussed today." She nodded silently, putting her things away in her bag.

She got out of her chair and smiled briefly at him, nodding once in parting. She turned to leave.

"I didn't tell you to leave, Miss Granger," he said, moments before her hand closed over the knob. She turned around and waited for further instruction.

He stared at her, outlining his mouth with his index finger. She had been stonily silent the entire class. Although he had enjoyed the silence, or at least he told himself he did, he found it awkward. "I need your assistance with something."

She stood there, waiting for him to explain.

He waited for her to ask what it was.

They stared at each other, from across the room, both quiet, her eyes shining slightly, jaw set determinedly, and lips pursed. He had a small smirk on his face when he slowly realized what was going on.

"The silent treatment? Really, Miss Granger, I thought you'd matured beyond the age of five."

Her mouth worked for a few seconds, as if to deny it, then it closed shut. He continued outlining his mouth with his finger.

He opened his drawer and grabbed the empty thermos in which Gregarson had given him the hot chocolate in. He set it on the desk, then pulled out a piece of parchment and hastily scribbled a note on it. He grabbed both objects, and strode over to her.

He handed her the parchment first. "If anyone stops you, hand them this. It will excuse you for being out as late as you are."

She took it.

He handed her the thermos. "Give this to Gregarson when you can. I don't want to listen to her boast about how well she made it."

She wrapped her hand around it, but she didn't tug it from his grasp. He didn't release it. They both held the thermos for awhile, then her eyes flickered up to his face briefly, before focusing on his Adam's apple. "I know you don't like me, sir," she whispered hoarsely.

He looked at her in surprise. "Talking again, are we? I thought we'd discussed this?" Although he was secretly glad, he wouldn't let her become privy to this. It was far too awkward.

"I know. But you're right. It was incredibly immature of me to act like this, when I already knew you hated me." She tugged it out of his hand, and he noticed the moisture in her eyes became thicker. She kept her mouth closed tightly when she wasn't speaking, and he imagined it was to prevent her mouth from quivering. He figured she wasn't the type of girl to burst into tears in front of him, and he was extremely glad of that. "But it doesn't change anything sir. I like you. I've always liked you. I think that's why it hurt me so much when you . . . Did what you had to do that night. Because unlike Ron and Harry, I actually trusted you."

It felt like she had slapped him across the face. Now why did she go and have to say that?

"It doesn't matter, though. I don't expect anything. It was just stupid of me. This isn't a social gathering. I should have realized . . . You've made yourself plain, and I . . . was foolish by asking questions. It won't happen again, sir." Her voice was weak, like it would break any moment, and judging by the small, clipped notes here and there, she was trying hard not to cry.

They looked at each other, and he felt like a complete arse.

"May I go?" she asked.

He barely nodded.

She turned to go, but then he sighed. "Miss Granger," he halted, feeling like a complete idiot. She turned around, and he noticed some wetness underneath her eyes. She waited for awhile while he tried to find his voice. "He went into my pensieve. That's why I stopped the lessons."

She stood there, looking stunned. He was stunned as well. Even he didn't know why he told her that. But the pressing feeling he got on his chest earlier when it had been brought up disappeared.

"I will not elaborate."

She nodded, understandingly.

"Go," he said, turning away from her. He was halfway to his desk when he heard the door shut.

* * *

"You're getting back late," Ginny pointed out as Hermione walked into the dormitory. There were a few girls asleep already, but most were still in the common room chatting.

Since they'd taken a year off finding Horcruxes and defeating Voldemort, she was now in Ginny's year, and they shared a dormitory. Hermione hadn't really made friends with the girls in her year. She hadn't been unfriendly with them, nor had she ever disliked them--with the exception of Lavender, obviously--but her friends had always been Ron and Harry. She hadn't been very popular. But having Ginny, who she had already been close with, in her year, and sharing a room with her (along with the other girls) was nice. She would never be as close with her as she was with Ron and Harry, but it was nice to have a girl to talk to once in awhile. A girl who wasn't especially girly, anyway. Then again, Ginny was the only girl of seven children--it made sense she was a bit tomboyish. Perhaps that was why Hermione preferred her over the others.

"There were interruptions," she explained briskly.

Ginny plopped down on Hermione's bed as Hermione put her bag on top of her trunk. Ginny took one glance at Hermione damp cheeks, and her face fell. "What did the git do? I'll hex him, I swear."

"It wasn't him," she muttered, wiping her cheeks. "And I'm not crying. I was simply teary."

"What happened?"

Hermione wasn't quite sure if she could explain it, seeing as she was unsure of it herself. "Well, he asked if I liked him--not like that, Ginny."

"I knew what you meant. Not that it matters anyway, you _are_ nineteen. Even if you are his student, you're of age," she said casually.

Hermione was a little surprised at Ginny's observation, although she did make some sense. "Well, I think he may have been asking rhetorically, because when I answered and said that yes, I did like him, he got . . . well, unpleasant. And I got a bit angry--I mean, I told him how I felt, I put myself out there, and he just--" She let out a harsh breath, suddenly angry again, but as quickly as the anger came, it subsided. She sat down next to Ginny. "I acted like a child, Ginny. He told me early on what to expect, and when he did exactly as he promised, I . . ." She shook her head and sighed. "He taught me, and I wrote notes, and I wouldn't talk. I refused to talk to him."

"You did the silent treatment?" Ginny inquired, raising her eyebrows, clearly amused.

"You make it sound so juvenile when you say that," she snapped, although she knew Ginny was right. Ginny sniggered. Hermione sighed. "He called me on it."

"I bet that went splendidly."

Hermione found herself chuckling lightly. "Yes well . . ."

"And the poem? Malfoy said he'd take care of it. He had to talk to Snape anyway."

Hermione nodded. "Snape said it was well-written. Oh, and Gregarson stopped by--like usual . . ." Hermione scowled, remembering how cruel she'd been to Malfoy, and how obnoxious she was. "She made a reference to the poem you wrote. I thought we were going to be figured out."

"Writing a poem for her was so easy. She's obviously full of herself--to impress her, all I had to do was talk about how pretty she was. I still maintain that the poem you wrote for Snape didn't sound like Gregarson at all. She's less eloquent. It sounded just like you."

"Yes, well, if I wrote it sounding like her, it wouldn't be a poem about him, would it? It would be about her. I just wrote what came to my head. Obviously it worked. We just have to get them liking each other, going on dates, and then all will be well. I can't wait for that. I'm growing tired of all this matchmaking nonsense."

Ginny cocked her head at Hermione. "You don't' have to do this, you know. I can step in, if you'd like. I mean, I already told the boys that I wouldn't help the mat all--no offence, but Snape's love life does not interest me at all, and I highly doubt it will prevent him from giving tough essays . . . But I will do it. If you don't want to."

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's all right. He deserves somebody. Someone to make him happy. Even if it is _her._ But the thing is, Ginny, I just don't get the feeling he'll ever like her! He needs someone intelligent, and less shallow, and more concerned about him than herself."

"Someone like--" Ginny started, but then she shut her mouth suddenly. Hermione glanced at Ginny suspiciously, wondering why she cut herself off. Ginny let out a sigh. "Have you even read _An Open Page?_ You know, that book I got you by Ember Rose."

"Er . . . I haven't started it yet. It's only been two days and I've been rather busy."

Ginny looked somewhat disappointed, which made Hermione feel horrible. To be honest, she'd fully intended on reading it, and even took it to the room with her Saturday, but when she read over the back again, she lost interest and put it on her bedside table, and hadn't bothered to look at it since.

Ginny managed to mask her disappointed expression quickly, but that didn't' make her feel any better. "Oh, well, I was saying, Snape would like Persephone Meadows. She's intelligent. A bit of a know-it-all, but intelligent. And she cares deeply for her friends, she sometimes even puts their needs before hers, even when she shouldn't. And she has a lot of patience. I didn't want to ruin anything for you if you hadn't started it, though. Everybody's reading it, Hermione. I even saw Gregarson with it . . . And McGonagall, which made me laugh. I never really thought McGonagall would be the type to read romance novels."

Hermione stared at the book, which was beside her bed. "is it really much different than any other romance novel, Ginny? I mean, I tire of them so easily . . ." She saw the look on Ginny's face, how hurt she appeared to be, then she sighed. "I'll start on it tomorrow. I swear."

Ginny's smiled brightened Hermione's day. "Thanks you. I mean, I know it isn't a pearl necklace, but, well . . . it means a lot."

Hermione fingered the pearls on her necklace for a moment, then let out a sigh. "I don't know why Ron boguth me this. I'm not a fan of jewellery."

"Yet you wore it. You're not a fan of romance novels, either." Hermione heard the hurt tone in Ginny's voice, and realized just what she'd done. She'd worn a necklace when she didn't like necklaces, but refused to read the book. Now she felt truly horrible. It obviously meant a lot to Ginny for her to read it.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Yes, well . . . How did he afford this? Aren't pearls . . . well, expensive?"

"Fred and George helped pay. Ron promised to work for them next summer to pay them back."

"Oh . . ."

Ginny put a hand on Hermione's knee, and looked into her eyes. "Look, Hermione . . . I realize you probably know this, but, well . . . Ron fancies. A lot. I mean, _a lot._ Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded, and felt suddenly uncomfortable, as if they were talking about something private and someone would overhear. "I know. I mean, I . . . figured as much."

Ginny nodded slowly, then removed her hand from Hermione's knee, and brushed her red hair behind her ear. "Well? What do you feel for him? And you can be honest, either way. Just 'cause he's my brother doesn't mean I'll like you any less because of how you feel."

Hermione sat there for a moment, thinking. "I don't know, Ginny. If you'd asked me that . . . Last year, even, I would have said yes. But . . . I liked him for so long and nothing happened. I can't hold on forever. And . . . And just when I thought for sure something was going to happen, he went and snogged Lavender in front of everybody! I mean, sometimes, you just . . .gradually . . . Stop liking someone. I mean, I can't sit here, waiting, forever. I'm not like you ,Ginny . . . I can't wait forever, like you did with Harry."

"Look how well that turned out," Ginny muttered. "Hermione, sometimes you can wait . . . But sometimes, you can't. It doesn't mean that what you felt wasn't real. It just means he's not the one for you."

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. "The point is, I'm not sure. Sometimes when I see him, I feel . . . like I do, but then sometimes . . . I just think of him as a brother. I don't know."

"There's nothing wrong with it. You can't help how you feel . . ." She furrowed her eyebrows. "Even though sometimes you really wish you could, you know?" Hermione nodded, agreeing with her. Honestly, if Hermione could help what she felt, she would still feel for Ron just as she had a year ago. Ginny seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. "Well, I'm tired. Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Ginny."

Ginny left Hermione's bed and went to her own. Hermione lied in bed, staring up at the ceiling, thinking over today's lesson with Snape. She had been foolish to try and talk with him civilly. However, she'd learned a few new things about him--something to put down on her parchment. Like how he outlined his mouth with his index finger when he was thinking. The fact he likes to read, as well.

She remembered what he said about her not liking fiction, and she furrowed her brows in thought. She glanced over at the book that was beside her bed. She grabebd the book, closed her curtain, and used her wand for light.

"I can get at least one chapter in before bed," she said to herself, and opened the book.

* * *

Severus was sitting beside Gregarson, having every intention to her insult her more today than he usually did, so as not to give her a reason to come in and flirt with him whilst he was busy with other students.

"I'm sorry I didn't check those gifts." The words tumbled from her full lips, as if she was forcing them out, and was afraid of his retort. But he could tell she actually meant the apology.

He looked her over, surprised. She was actually sorry. "Yes, I find it tiresome doing your job."

"Oh, so you checked them?"

"Naturally."

"I'm sorry. I . . . I shouldn't be so, ah . . ."

"Selfish?" he offered coldly.

She looked offended, but then she deflated. "All right, I deserved that." He smirked at her, and she sighed, tossing her long, perfectly curled, blonde hair over her shoulder. "You were so kind to me, and I . . . I repaid you by . . . making you do my job, and acting like an idiot last night. I'm sorry."

"I haven't been overly kind," he told her, not sure if she was just saying things she felt she should say or if she genuinely thought he was being kind to her.

She nudged him with her elbow. She smiled at him, and it lit up her face. Perhaps his first impression of her wasn't entirely correct. This was the girl who wrote a poem that made him sound as if he was actually attractive. "You know, Severus, you're not as bad as you think you are." She bit her bottom lip and tilted her chin down, and started drawing a circle on the table with her index finger idly.

"I assure you, I really am."

She chuckled and shook her head. They looked at each other, and she reached forward and brushed his hair away from his eyes. He jerked his head back. "Don't touch my hair," he snapped.

"Sorry--it was in your--"

"I don't care." Her lips pursed, but she kept silent. He looked her over. "My hair is fine the way it is."

"You really think so? I think it looks a bit--" She cut off when he fixed her with a glare. "It looks fine," she said dully, and he didn't believe a word of it.

"You are the one who insists I am . . . good looking."

"The word I used was sexy."

Severus scowled. "Indeed. So leave my hair as it is."

"Really, I would love to give you a makeover, Severus, really show the world what a hunk you are . . . Seriously, my mum was a professional hairstylist, and she used to do the makeup and hair for Gwenog Jones until dear Gwenog decided that--"

"My hair is fine," he spat again.

She let out a little sigh. "All right."

He looked at all of the students, waiting for one of them to misbehave.

"So what did Malfoy give Hermione?"

He sighed. "A journal."

"Did you get her anything?"

He glared at her, looking her up and down. He wasn't ashamed of getting the girl the card, but it really wasn't any of her damn business, and he didn't want her getting the wrong idea. "What do you think?" he growled.

"Have you read that new book by Ember Rose? You know, _An Open Page?_ It's really good. The main guy reminds me of you."

Severus had been hearing about this book ever since the start of term. McGonagall was quite fond of it, and he'd caught a few of his students reading it during class. He wondered if it was really as good as everybody made it out to be. Severus had found most romance novels quite cliché and poorly written.

"No, I haven't."

"I think you would like it."

"Fascinating."

For the rest of breakfast, she tried to get him into a conversation, but he spoke briskly. He found his eyes wandering over to Miss Granger, who seemed to be trying to act interested in whatever Mister Weasley was talking about, but her eyes were wandering just as his was. Gregarson tended to babble and go on about unimportant matters for a long while, and seemed completely oblivious to the fact he was not paying attention, so he had no idea what she was saying. So he simply watch Miss Granger for whatever reason.

Mister Weasley was just as oblivious to the fact Miss Granger wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention and that her eyes were wandering.

Their eyes met. For a moment, Severus wondered if she was indeed looking at him, but after a few moments, it became obvious. He didn't' look away. He quietly sipped his coffee, tuning Gregarson out, looking into her brown eyes. He thought back to when he put her pearl necklace on for her, and noticed she was still wearing it, and how out-of-place the white pearls seemed against her fair skin . . . She didn't' hastily look away, or blush, or duck her head . . . She gazed just as intently back. He had told her about the pensieve. He wondered if she asked Potter for more information. Why had he told her? Why had he felt guilty for being rude? Why did the insufferable girl have to like him?

She had trusted him . . . She felt betrayed when he killed Dumbledore, because she liked him . . .

". . . and that was the end of that," she said more loudly than she had been speaking before.

Severus shook his head, pulling himself out of whatever reverie he'd been in while looking at Miss Granger. He looked at Gregarson. "Indeed," he said, having no idea what she'd been talking about.

"I know," she said with a solemn nod. "But what about you?"

Severus blinked a few times. "What about me?"

"Oh come on Severus I told you about my first time, and how embarrassing it was for me to be utterly clueless with Sirius, because we all know he was pretty experienced by the time I found my way into his bed. So come on, you can't leave me hanging. What about you?"

Severus blinked a few times. Had she really been talking about having sex with Sirius? How long had she been talking? How long had he been looking at Miss granger? More importantly, why had he been looking at Miss Granger?

"I'd rather not discuss it," he said simply.

"You . . . _have_ had sex, right?" she asked warily, as if afraid of his answer.

He glared at her. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"Nothing! I just meant--well, if you haven't had sex, that's all right. It's perfectly okay. I just meant, well, have you? I can't imagine you a virgin--you must have had plenty of girls draping themselves over you, I mean, well, look at you . . ." She trailed off, then cleared her throat, although Severus got the feeling she was acting embarrassed as opposed to actually being embarrassed.

"I can assure you that women do not drape themselves over me."

"But . . . Are you a virgin?"

"No," he answered simply. She waited for him to elaborate, but he did not.

He spent the rest of breakfast eating silently, avoiding looking at the Gryffindor table.

* * *

Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear, only for it to go back to its original position. With an agitated sigh and a glare at a piece of hair that was in front of her eye, she knocked on Snape's door. This time, she would be careful to keep her mouth closed. This time, she would stay silent. This time ,she wouldn't embarrass herself by prattling.

"Enter," he called.

She walked into the classroom and saw, as she knew she would, a thermos on his desk. Since she's made him another thermos of homemade hot cocoa, she figured he would once again want her to 'return' it to Gregarson. She'd told the boy she made it because as long as Gregarson kept making him hot cocoa, he would be civil to her long enough to have a real conversation in order to continue getting what he wanted. In reality, she had no idea why she made it--she just felt like giving it to him because she knew he liked it.

She sat in the desk she usually sat at and placed her bag beside the table. "Good evening, Professor," she said with a smile.

Snape grabbed a red mug and poured some into the mug. He walked over to her desk, placed the mug atop it, then went back to his desk, placing the thermos in front of him.

Hermione looked at the steaming mug on her desk, then stared at her professor. After a few seconds of silence, he raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to drink it or not?" he asked.

She blinked a few times, still a little shocked. "Of course, sir. Thank you . . . you didn't have to."

He pulled out a black mug--the one she had given him the first time she made him hot cocoa--and poured the rest into it. "It has come to my attention that if I am to ask you to return this to Gregarson--and have to listen to her less than humble babble--then you may as well share it."

She nodded, then put the red mug to her lips. She wondered where he'd gotten it--she didn't really picture him as someone to own a lot of red. "Thank you, sir."

He barely nodded. She figured that was his way of saying she was welcome.

"Did you confront Potter about what I told you last week?" he asked in a quiet tone, his black eyes lowered, focusing on his mug rather than her while he talked.

"About him . . . Going inside the pensieve?" He nodded again. "No, I haven't."

His black eyes lifted from the mug and met her brown ones for the briefest of seconds, before he looked back down at the mug again. In that moment when their eyes met, her heart seemed to skip a beat, and she was forcibly reminded of when they stared at each other last week during breakfast. The entire week she'd been pondering on that, wondering why it had happened, and why she had taken extra care not to look in his direction at all unless necessary--and it seemed that he had been avoiding looking at her as well.

"Why is that?" he inquired.

"Because . . . if I brought it up, then he would . . . justify it, sir. Make it seems as though you were at fault somehow. Or at least tell me what he saw in there. Whatever was in there, sir, was your personal memory. If I'm going to hear it, I want to hear it from you--and I don't want to listen to him try to justify it, because he had no right whatsoever." Snape raised an eyebrow, but his eyes were still focused on the mug. "But I'm not asking to hear it, sir. I was just _saying_ that it's your decision."

They sipped in silence for a few moments, then he let out a sigh. "His father was unkind."

Hermione had figured out long ago that Snape didn't like James, and had attributed it to jealousy. She now knew that Snape had been in love with Lily, and now believed that had been part of his dislike for Harry's father as well as Harry.

Snape glanced at her for a moment, then shook his head. "I see you don't believe me. I imagine you blame my hatred entirely on jealousy. He was everything I was not--popular, good-looking . . . And seeing as Gregarson has burst in here apologizing about Lily and I'm sure Potter has told you, I assume you know of my . . . affections towards Lily Evans."

Hermione nodded, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks .he'd seen right through her.

"But you are deceived. The world tells you all how wonderful a man he was--am I right? Have you once heard a single bad word again him?"

"No, sir."

"So I imagine you do not believe me when I say what a swine James Potter was. Do not lie to me, Miss Granger. I will know."

She wanted to lie. She wanted to tell him that she believed every word he said. She wanted to believe that James was a complete berk. But he was right--he was the only person to every speak poorly of him. "I'm sorry," she managed weakly, then drank deeply of her hot chocolate to hide her face.

"No matter. He was very popular. As such, the teachers let his . . . less favourable qualities slide. Yo uare intelligent, Miss Granger, and as such, I'm sure you've noticed that when it comes to certain people, the yare allowed . . . free reign? Potter, for instance, has caused this school more devastation than many other students and yet he is never reprimanded. Don't interrupt me," he spat, for she had opened her mouth to defend her friend. "You are favoured, as well. When you and your two highly revered friends walk into a classroom, people adore you. You are favoured. Yet it is not wrong when you are teacher's pet, is it? Of course not. Yet when I favour Draco, it is viewed as horrendous. It's only unfair when thing aren't working out for you. I will not allow you to disillusion yourself, Miss Granger--you are too intelligent for that."

Hermione felt that he was wrong. She was treated no better, and neither was Harry. They had no unfair advantage over any other student. Snape was the only teacher who showed bias. She pursed her lips and fought the urge to shout out in defence.

"You know as well as I do that it's true. And such an instance of unfair advantage was James Potter. I may be biased, but I am not a liar. And when I say that James Potter was an unkind bully, I mean it."

"Like Malfoy?" she spat before she could help herself.

Snape looked her over. "The blessed saint you call James Potter followed me around my entire tenure at Hogwarts bullying me. The memory in particular, Miss Granger, is about him suspending me by the ankle with a spell _I designed_ so that my robes fell over my head. In public. This is the sort of thing he did constantly. Now feel free to compare him to Draco."

Hermione stared at him, mouth open slightly in shock. "He . . . Harry did say his father used that spell . . . He thought for a moment that his dad was possibly the Prince . . ."

"I shudder at the thought of me being confused with that imbecile." eh took a small sip. "His mother . . . was kind to me. Lily was a gracious woman . . ." He furrowed his eyebrows while he drank. Hermione stared at him, getting the feeling that he was thinking about something deeply. "She tried to help me. It hurt my pride. I said something that I never should have. And I've spent my whole life regretting it."

Somehow, Hermione knew just what he said. They're eyes locked, and with a jolt, she realized that he knew she knew what he said. She was of the same parentage Lily was, and he was opening up to her--telling he that he once used the word that Malfoy used several times to insult her. Hermione had figured that he'd used the word multiple times in his life--he'd once been a Death Eater after all--but for some reason, the fact he was telling her this made her feel . . . something.

She realized a bit later than she should have that he was opening up to her--he was telling her something very personal about his life, something that he regretted so much--something that was so personal--that he'd put it in his pensieve during Occlumency lessons, to prevent Harry from seeing even the smallest bit of it.

And he was telling it to her over hot chocolate.

He stared into her eyes for quite awhile, calmly sipping hot cocoa, leaving her speechless. What could she say to that? She had no idea.

He finally looked away. "Despite how he treated me, and _several _others . . . Nobody once said a word against him. The teachers adored him. Thought his antics amusing. The only person besides myself who saw him for what he was--and arrogant swine--ended up marrying him. And now, that is all people will remember of him--a man so glorious and spectacular that the most gracious, beautiful, kind woman to grace this earth married him." He furrowed his eyebrows in thought, then drank the rest of his hot chocolate.

Hermione still didn't know what to say.

"It must be nice to be favoured. And yet, it is those who are favoured who are the first to object to any bias directed towards someone other than them."

She drank silently, mulling things over in her head.

"I was cross with you last week. That was wrong of me. You have been nothing but kind, and I responded . . . Improperly."

Hermione figured that was the closest she would ever get to an apology from him, and so she nodded.

They drank the rest of their hot chocolate in silence before they went on with their lesson.

And for once, their lesson was uninterrupted.

* * *

a/n--thank you so much for your reviews! They are very kind.


	12. Touch

Chapter 12: Touch

Hermione had gotten used to their routine, although it was unspoken. She would come to his office for their extra lessons anywhere between five to three minutes early. He would wait until she was properly seated, then he would calmly walk to her desk and silently pour her some hot cocoa that she, unbeknownst to him, had made herself. Then he would seat himself, pour himself some in a mug, and they would sip slowly and talk.

Yes, actually _talk._

Snape was, of course, often acerbic and sarcastic, and she found herself getting offended every now and then. She would rise to the occasion and they would started discussing something rather heatedly, even argue. Later on that night she would remember the odd gleam in his eye and the barely there smirk, and realize that he had been baiting her . . . As if this was _fun_ for him.

She realize she got an odd thrill from it too, and after awhile, even though she _knew_ he was goading, she would play along. Soon their arguments became, well . . . playful banter. Sometimes, if she looked hard enough, it almost seemed flirtatious, not that she was stupid enough to actually _think_ he was being flirtatious, no, she knew it merely _seemed_ like it. People like Severus Snape did not flirt, and they certainly did not flirt with people like Hermione Granger. And people like Hermione Granger did not flirt either, and if they did, they would certain not flirt with people like her Potions master! What a ludicrous idea, to think they were actually _flirting._ No, that's just what it was _almost_ like.

After their discussion, they would continue on with their extra lesson, and they would both act as if the conversation they had over hot cocoa hadn't happened. He would explain the different uses of an ingredient, why it's used in certain potions, and sometimes, he would allow her to brew with him. They never touched, or stood closer than three feet to each other. Hermione didn't know why she noticed this; she just did.

However, she knew that if she ever called attention to their routine, it would stop. It was silly, really. She knew Snape was aware of it, because he would stare at her expectantly, waiting for her to speak first. She _always _spoke first. And he looked as if he needed it. And then would she would speak, he seemed to relax a bit, his shoulders wouldn't be drawn up to tight, and his mouth would twitch into the briefest, smallest smile she had ever seen. She could see it in his eyes when they talked--he enjoyed it, and he knew what was going on. But she also knew that if she ever once mentioned their conversations or brought any sort of attention to it, that it would end, and the next week when she sat down in her desk, there would be no chocolate, there would only be lessons.

After they were finished with whatever they were doing that day, he would hand her the now-empty thermos for her to return it to Gregarson. He had explained briefly that he did not want to listen to her brag about it.

Then Hermione would go back to Gryffindor tower. Tuesday night, she would write a letter (pretending to be Gregarson) about what had happened to her that week, general thoughts about something, or anything at all, really. As much as Hermione had tried, she could not quite get Gregarson's voice own, and she was literally being herself, just signing a different name, and writing the letter in cursive--seeing as Snape had only seen her write in print before, he would not recognize the handwriting. She, of course, forged the signature, copying it from the permission slip Draco had 'helped' her obtain. As far as Snape was concerned, Meredith Susan Gregarson was writing him, and the following Wednesday morning, a letter was given to her by Dobby, with Snape's reply on it.

Snape would sometimes mentioned 'Miss Granger' in the letter, and describe what they had discussed the previous lesson. He would often complain about her being a know-it-all, or far too chatty, but then he would always follow it with something that would make it seem as if he didn't really mind it. _Miss Granger is far too chatty at times. However, it's not as if there are many people clamouring to talk with me, so I don't mind too much. She is a complete nuisance, constantly trying to prove herself by being an insufferable know-it-all. However, it is a nice change. I grow tired of speaking to complete dunderheads._

Sometimes, he would talk of what they discussed in the lesson, as if asking Gregarson to comment. Seeing as 'Gregarson' was Hermione, she would literally have the same opinion. Sure, she would dress it up different, like two different actors playing the same character, but it was the same in essence. He seemed to mention her more than anything else really. He would also talk about his day; some incidental stuff. He never quite seemed as . . . interested in what he was talking about as he did whenever he talked to Hermione during lessons. Perhaps it was because it was a letter and not his voice, but he seemed . . . Less enthusiastic to speak to 'Gregarson' than he did to Hermione.

It was Hogsmeade weekend, and everybody was discussing their plans for what they were doing. The Quidditch match was over and done with--Gryffindor won, not surprisingly. The Slytherin's new Seeker was not nearly as good as Malfoy. Personally, Hermione thought that Malfoy was a better flier than Harry--just far too flashy and showy. If he would concentrate more on the goal rather than looking good, Hermione was sure Malfoy would do much better than her best friend. But Hermione would never admit to thinking that out loud--after all, what did she know about Quidditch and flying?

Although she had never gotten along with Malfoy and he would always be a spoiled little prat in her eyes, she did feel a bit sorry for him. Snape had been more than willing to allow him to be Seeker, but McGonagall had declined. She had said that her reasoning behind this was to protect Malfoy from the other players, saying that she feared they would attack him. Hermione had thought that this sounded just like what McGonagall would so, it was noble enough and made sense, but both Snape and Malfoy were convinced she had over-ruled Snape's request simply because they both had part in Dumbledore's death.

Awhile ago, Hermione would had been quite positive McGonagall had done purely for the noble purpose she'd told them. But every since Snape had discussed favouritism with her, she had noticed that the teachers and students were treating Malfoy differently than they treated her and Harry and Ron. She wanted to think that it was a new reaction . . . But she remembered instances before the war, and she realized that Snape had been right . . . He had a way of saying the right thing, the true thing, no matter how unsettling it was.

The students and teachers had always treated Slytherin, mostly Malfoy, and Snape differently. The wouldn't award them points, or give them congratulations, or they would take points far sooner than they would of other houses. Yet they would complain when Snape took points from Gryffindor, and gave some to Slytherin.

To put it how Snape once put it; _"I will not deny I favour Slytherin. But I don't do it any more than the others. I give points to Slytherin for a correct answer. McGonagall awards points to Gryffindor when three student vandalize a bathroom and put their lives as well as many others when trying to fight a troll. I take points from Gryffindor for lateness, or being out after curfew. McGonagall takes points from Slytherin for disagreeing with her opinion or not paying attention in class. Yet _I_ am the one accused of favouritism."_

Hermione had never once realized that she had gotten so used to being the favourite, to being teacher's pet, that when it wasn't her getting the attention, she felt wronged somehow.

How was it she had missed it all these years? He had a way of pointing out the obvious truth, and she felt offended, yet it was true. She wondered how hard it must be to be him; seeing all these blinding truths.

As usual, everybody had partied all night celebrating Gryffindor's victory. And the fact they had no school the following morning, and it was Hogsmeade weekend. Hermione had never really been one for parties and had gone directly to bed. She had tried to sleep, but the noise had made that impossible. So Hermione was a bit irritated.

Hermione, although she'd barely had any sleep that night, still woke up earlier than anybody else. She got ready for the day, noticing--like she did every day--just how out-of-place those pearls looked against her skin. They didn't look like they belonged. Every time she looked in a mirror, it was like someone had circled the necklace on her throat with a large red marker. It even seemed to clash with her V-necked jumped. Then again, it always seemed to clash with everything she wore.

She furrowed her eyebrows and went over to her bedside table, glancing over the letter she had been reading over that night. It was the letter Snape had sent 'Gregarson' the previous Wednesday. Hermione often reread his letters a few times, so as not to forget to address something in the one she wrote Tuesday. However, she had reread this letter a thousand times over, far more than she needed too. He didn't say anything revealing, and he was in character, so she had no idea why she liked it so much. He talked about his day like he always did, and he talked about what had happened between him and 'Miss Granger' that Monday, the conversations they had. Hermione realized that she wasn't really rereading the letter so much as two sentences.

The first being: _It bothers me that you are so shallow that you cannot show your true self to the world, Gregarson, and that you seem so different in letter than in person--who is the 'real' you, I find myself asking--the intelligent and interesting woman on parchment, or the conceited and shallow woman at the dinner table who constantly barges into my office?_

This bothered Hermione because it meant he realized they were "different" even if he didn't' realize why. It worried her that he might make a connection that would completely destroy their plan--which had gone practically nowhere--and cause him to be (rightfully) furious with her for meddling after all the manipulation he had been through during the war. She was more worried about him being angry with her than she was about the plan not working. In fact, Hermione wouldn't have cared about the failure of the plan if she hadn't forced herself to care.

The second sentence which she read more than she read the first, read: _Miss Granger bites her bottom lip and drags her teeth slowly back into her mouth whenever she is thinking._

It was shorter than the first, and meant absolutely nothing, but she couldn't stop reading it. She had no idea why.

Being as no one was awake, the common room was empty, and Hermione had finished all of her homework, and so she had nothing to do. She decided that a pot of early breakfast would cure her boredom, along with a trip to the library to pick out a large book to read.

She had finished _An Open Page_ by Ember Rose, and she--regrettably--had to admit it was rather well-written. It hadn't seemed horribly cliché, the characters were very believable and realistic . . . But there was just something unsettling about it. There were times she swore that it was a story about her and people she knew. The resemblances between Somnurus Slade and Snape were uncanny, and Persephone Meadows seemed far too much like her . . . The fact that they were paired together was strange, but oddly satisfying. She knew she was looking too deeply into things, since it was the author's intention to make the reader feel familiar with the story and be able to identify with the characters, but it was just too . . . unsettling. She had told Ginny as much, who merely shrugged and said she got the same feeling, but that she probably shouldn't worry about it.

Hermione ate a quiet breakfast. There were only a few students there while she ate, and only half the teachers were sitting at the staff table--she quickly noted that Snape wasn't one of them, and didn't bother to check for anyone else--then she left, heading for the library.

She pushed the doors open, them swinging into the library. There was a thud and a grunt from the other side, and when Hermione walked in, she immediately understood, and she felt her cheeks burn.

She'd slammed the door right into Snape.

"Oh! Professor! I'm sorry! I didn't mean--"

"Shhh!" Madame Pince hushed angrily, glaring at Hermione with eyes so wide it looked at if they were going to pop out of her skull, and her face turning a bright scarlet.

Snape's hands were covering the lower portion of his face. He glared at her quickly, then he brushed past her quickly.

Hermione felt a rush of guilt and worry. Was he angry with her? Why did he just walk on by like that? It wasn't like she meant it!

She left the library and followed him. He was rushing down the hallway. "Professor!" she called. He didn't turn to regard her. She reached forward and grabbed his arm, trying to get him to turn around. "Professor, please, it was an accident, I didn't mean--" Her voice caught in her throat when he turned around to scowl at her when she tugged his arm, forcing his hand away from his face--which she hadn't realized he was covering. Blood had pooled in his palms and now dripped down his wrist, and smeared across his mouth and chin. Blood was still streaming steadily down his face. "Oh!" she gasped, then let go of his arm and her hands flew to her mouth.

Snape turned to leave, and she noticed that his cheeks were a delicate shade of pink.

She grabbed his arm. "Professor, I'm sorry." He glared at her, looking quite frightening. She would not forget the time that Ron had been absolutely convinced Snape was a vampire and had managed to brew a potion that allowed him to go out in daylight the one time he refereed a Hufflepuff match. After much heated discussion, she had proved that Snape wasn't a vampire, but she was certain that if Ron ever saw Snape with blood smearing his mouth he would, once again, be convinced. It was an image that would be burned into her mind for quite a long time, that was for sure.

He snarled and it looked like he was about to say something, but then she reached forward and held the side of his face, her palm away from any blood. "Sir, please, I can fix this," she said, a bit more quietly than she had intended. His body was stiff and he looked like he was going to pull away, but he didn't. Instead, he sort of . . . softened.

"Episkey," she whispered, her wand barely touched the part of his nose the was bent awkwardly. She heard a small crack and watched it reform to its normal, hooked shape. "Tergeo," she whispered even quieter. The blood disappeared from his face.

She lowered her wand hand, but her left hand still cupped the side of his now clean, handsome--er, clean face. Severus Snape was not handsome. That had been an odd thought. She realized that she ha broken the three feet rules he always followed, that there were standing mere inches from each other. He tiled his head slightly so that it leaned into her palm, and he was staring at her in a way she had never seen him stare before. Like he was studying a painting.

She realized that she had never touched him before. Ever. He had brushed his fingers against the back of her neck while he put the damned pearl necklace on, and perhaps that had bumped shoulders in a crowded room before, but she had never touched him. And she had no real reason to continue holding his face, since he was healed, and he had no real reason to let her.

She suddenly stopped away from him, clearing her throat and ducking her head slightly. Her heart had leapt into her throat and was beating faster than it should have.

"I could have done that myself, Miss Granger. I'm not an idiot."

She looked at him, surprised at his sharp tone. "Oh! No! I wasn't--I wasn't suggesting you couldn't! I--I just thought since it was my fault, I mean, I slammed the door into your face, I should take responsibility for my own actions! I didn't mean to imply that you--" She saw the corner of his mouth twitch upwards and his eyebrow raised briefly. She let out a scoff. "You were--you were goading me!"

"You're so easy to goad, see," he said calmly.

"You could just say you were grateful," she muttered, feeling suddenly embarrassed. He just raised an eyebrow at her even higher.

"And admit that I was out loud? You don't know me very well, I fear."

Hermione nearly laughed at what he said, but she couldn't contain a smile. "You're being rather . . . Well, I wouldn't say cheerful . . ."

"Am I?" She shrugged. "Have you had breakfast?" he inquired.

Hermione frowned. Why would he care? "Yes, actually."

Snape seemed to looked a bit . . . unhappy at the news. He barely nodded. "I suppose you'll be at Hogsmeade later, with Potter and Weasley."

"I suppose, yes."

"I'll be there as well," he informed, although Hermione had no idea why. It wasn't' as if he'd ever told her his days' schedule before. "I prefer The Hog's Head over The Three Broomsticks. Perhaps, if you have some time away from your _friends . . ."_ She did catch the acidic tone he used when he referred to her friends. ". . . you could stop by."

Hermione blinked when she realized that he was asking her to sit and talk with him in a setting outside of the classroom. She would really enjoy that . . . But she had no idea how she could shake Ron off of her tail long enough to do that. It wasn't that Ron was being a creepy stalker or anything, but he followed her around constantly and asked her if he could get her anything--like a drink, or snacks, or if she wanted an escort to Snape classroom for her extra lessons, and drop hints that were more like anvils that he wanted to date her. He wasn't doing anything disturbing, just annoying, really. He reminded her of a puppy she had when she was still in primary school--it constantly followed her around, vying for attention, but only wanted it when she was busy doing homework, and so she'd get rather irritated with it but was too nice to shove away.

She bit her lip in thought, thinking of how she could give him the slip. She could feel her teeth slowly dragging across her flesh. She realized that she was doing the exact thing Snape mentioned in the letter, and caught him glancing at her mouth briefly. She immediately stopped. "I will try, sir. If I can escape Ron," she promised, realizing that she sounded a bit melodramatic.

His eyes moved from her face to her throat, and he stepped forward, casually fingering the strand of pearls around her neck. She could feel the back of his knuckles brushing along the skin of her collarbone, but he didn't do anything to imply he was aware of the fact he was touching her. "Mister Weasley, yes . . . And you have no desire to return his infatuations?" He spoke in a low tone; his mouth barely moving; his eyes on the necklace.

Hermione was more aware of the fact that his knuckles were brushing her skin than the fact he was practically asking her if she had a crush on Ron. "Er, no, I don't, no," she muttered, feeling the back of his index and middle finger circling along her skin while he rolled the pearls between those two fingers and his thumb.

He glanced up into her eyes, and she felt her heart skip a beat. What was wrong with her? "Yet you continue wearing the pearl necklace he gave you."

She reached up and grabbed his wrist, with every intent of pulling his hand away. For some reason his comment stung. She didn't yank his hand away, though. She held his wrist gently for a second, then he pulled his wrist out of her grasp and stepped away, back to their customary three-feet distance.

"Perhaps, Miss Granger, if you were to be honest with him in regards to your feelings, he would not bother you as much. Honesty may not always be the kindest friend, but leading him on is far crueller." He furrowed his eyebrows. "Speaking from experience, Miss Granger, I would rather be turned down in the cruellest fashion than be led on." With that, he spun on his heel and walked away.

Hermione felt oddly breathless, but had no explanation as to why.

* * *

Severus managed to get all the way to the Great Hall, sit beside Gregarson, and start eating breakfast without having any recollection of doing any of said activities. When eh had asked Miss Granger if she'd had breakfast yet, he'd had every intention of asking her to join him, or for her to allow him to escort her there. What was wrong with him? Did he come to enjoy their conversations so much that was looking for excuses to have them elsewhere than the classroom? Almost as if he wanted to endure more of her incessant prattling and her know-it-all spouting! He highly doubted that he truly wanted to see her . . . Yet he found himself hoping she could escape the sights of the idiot Weasley long enough to stop by, perhaps have a drink or two with him . . . He really did enjoy speaking with her . . . It wasn't as if he'd had many people enjoy talking to him as she did since . . . ever . . . Talking in a pub wit ha student was acceptable. There was nothing wrong with it. He always made sure to stay at least three feet from her when they spoke. He never stood closer to her.

Well, except for today. But that had been her fault, insisting to heal his broken nose, which he was more than capable of healing himself. Severus liked to pretend he'd tried batting her away, tried fighting her off, but that she'd held him down and made him allow her to heal him . . . But, alas, that was not what had happened at all. He had let her, just like he had let her hold his face. She was _touching _him. She was holding his face, looking at him as a man--not a monster; not a pawn. She wasn't afraid of him.

And that surge of irritation when he realized she still wore Weasley's gift around her neck . . . What had that been? It felt like jealousy, but that couldn't possibly be it . . . He remembered feeling her skin against eh back of his fingers. He'd tried to ignore it, but he couldn't. she hadn't pulled away . . . She hadn't been disgusted . . . Miss Granger did not seem to hate him, something that Severus had not experienced for quite some time.

"You look funny," Gregarson stated.

Severus blinked, being brought back into reality rather suddenly. "Beg pardon?"

"You look weird. Like someone hit you upside the head with a pole or something. Is everything all right, Sevvy?"

Severus could have vomited if he wanted to. Hearing her say that name was equivalent to having nails scratch along a chalkboard. "Yes, and don't ever call me that again," he spat, scowling at her. She had called him that name several times before, and he had told her just as many times not to call him that. She never listened. He doubted this time would be any different.

"You're so weird. God, you'd think you were a different person, the letters you write and how you actin public. But I get it--image and all." She shrugged a bit.

"I hardly see how I present myself differently in the letters I write you."

"Oh, come on, you know your far more charming in letters than in real life!" she exclaimed with a giggle and a toss of the hair.

"Which part of my letter came off as charming to you? The part where I described my tedious day, or the fact I would rather write of Miss Granger than actually write about you?" he spat. As soon as he said it, he half-regretted it. He didn't know why he did, seeing as she had read the letter he'd written in the first place, but for some reason, admitting he'd been more concerned about what he and Miss Granger talked about during their lessons than he was with a stunning, intelligent woman that as his age felt as though he'd done something inappropriate.

Gregarson tilted her head to the side, her luxurious curls bouncing as she did so, her big, blue eyes blinking a few times. A few seconds later, she laughed. Loudly. Severus glanced around the mostly empty Great Hall, realizing that everyone in it was staring at Gregarson and assuming that he had something clever and witty. He supposed it would make him look good, but not even that could make the fact that he was sitting beside this loud, obnoxious bint any less annoying.

"God, you are so funny! Really, though, sometimes I have a hard time telling the difference between you being sarcastic and serious!"

Severus raised his eyebrows at her. He had no idea why she would find it hilarious that he was referencing to the fact he had, indeed, talked more about Miss Granger than he had of her in his letters.

"You talking more about Hermione than me! God! You're just great!" she exclaimed.

The most irritating thing about Gregarson was the fact she did not think before she spoke, and she had a voice that carried. It wasn't that she was blunt so much idiotic. Although he was blunt, he never spoke without thinking. She, however, was incapable of stopping anything that trampled through her brain from falling out of her mouth. Loudly. Thus, the entirety of the Great Hall turned and stared at him.

Severus glanced at McGonagall whose lips were pursed and eyebrows were raised. She looked like she was about to murder him. Severus' cheeks burned, and the sickening sensation one got when falling filled him. This feeling was familiar. He was being humiliated. Taunted. Everybody was staring at him. Everybody thought of him as a fool.

"That may be so, _Gregarson,_ but at least I was never Sirius Black's cast-off," he spat. Her laugh died instantly and her eyes watered. She looked like he had smacked her across the face. She paled slightly, as well. Severus smirked.

Gregarson's lips pursed and she stood up, eyes burning like a blue flame. "You bastard!" she screeched.

"Regrettably, I know my father," he informed with a raised eyebrow. He spoke calmly; quietly. Let her become angry and make a scene, She would only embarrass herself, and thus, get the attention off of him. Severus had never much liked attention.

"How dare you bring up my past, just because I'm not some loser virgin hung up on dead red-heads!"

Severus nearly lost it. He stood up, standing right in front of her, glaring into her blue eyes. She did not back down--in fact, she stood taller. She did not appear to be intimidated at all. "You will not speak of her again, understand?" he growled menacingly.

"You know nothing of pain, Severus Snape!" she cried dramatically. Severus thought she looked somewhat demented.

"I find that I am rather educated in the subject," he spat, looking her over.

"Just because Sirius Black ripped my heart out and stomped on it doesn't mean you can make fun of me!" she shouted, tears welling up in her eyes.

Severus looked around the nearly empty Great Hall. There were only a handful of students, plus half of the teachers on the staff table. They were all looking at the pair of them Severus scowled. "You are making a fool of yourself. Perhaps we should take this elsewhere?" he suggested through clenched teeth.

"No, we will settle this now, you little prat!" She stamped her foot on the last word for emphasis.

"Oh, do be quiet," he snapped.

"Make me!" she shrieked, standing taller, a few inches from his face. Somehow, she managed to look attractive while angry. That only irritated Severus more.

"Don't tempt me," he threatened in a low voice, towering over her. They stared at each other for a few seconds, anger thrumming through Severus. He couldn't understand how one woman could seem so different in letters compared to reality. It wasn't that she came off as intelligent in the letters and not now--he had seen her OWL scores and NEWT scores, she was rather brainy--but it was just that in her letters, she was far less immature, far less full of herself, and managed to put some thought behind the words she wrote, rather than her annoying habit of speaking without thinking. It was bloody frustrating.

The anger in her eyes flashed briefly, and Severus barely had time to register that something in about her demeanour changed, before she grabbed the collar of his robes and brought him mouth to hers in a crushing kiss.

For a wild moment Severus wondered if he was having some horrible nightmare, then he realized that she was, in fact, kissing him. He shoved her off of him roughly, watching her stumble and nearly fall. He was absolutely disgusted. What was she thinking?

"At what point did you think _kissing_ me was a good idea? The part where I threatened you, or the part where I called you Black's cast-off?" Her mouth worked soundlessly, and her blue eyes flickered around the room, and he knew that she'd just realized everybody was staring at her now. And that she was humiliated, all because of herself. He felt a surge of vindictive pleasure knowing she was embarrassed.

She reached forward as if to hold his face, much like Miss Granger had. He knocked her hand away. "Don't touch me," he ordered, then stormed out of the Great Hall.

Severus could not wait for Hogsmeade. He could not wait to go into The Hog's Head, and have a few drinks of firewhiskey. Although a part of him tried to say otherwise, he really hoped Miss Granger would show--he needed someone with brains to talk with him before the day was out, to wash him free of the stupidity that Gregarson had bestowed upon him.

* * *

A/N--Okay, am I the only one who finds teh random kiss during an argument annoying? I'm sorry, but if someone kissed me while I was yelling at them, or during an argument . . . well, I might not be so receptive. It's great when done right, but in most fics, or romance novels for that matter, it does come off as a bit unbelievable and cliche. Or perhaps it's just me.

Anyway, as I'm sure you can tell, that last bit was pretty much a complete scoff at crappily written smut novels. I also made Gregarson even more Sue-ish for a reason--so we can bash her. Honestly, though, in reality, if someone happened to be a Sue, that person would most likely be CONCEITED ALL THE HELL. Which is why Gregarson is so full of herself. It made sense to me. I know, Sues aren't supposed to have flaws, but . . . oh well.


	13. Kiss

Chapter 13: Kiss

"You're not going to change your clothes before going?" Lavender asked.

Hermione had been in the middle of a conversation and so it irritated her that Lavender had interrupted her. "Er, no, why would I? It's just Hogsmeade."

"Well, it's just, you wore that jumper all morning. You can't wear it to Hogsmeade too. Everybody's seen you in it. Besides, muggle clothing? What for?"

"I happen to like this jumper," Hermione defended, looking down at what she was wearing. She brushed it off and looked at the V-neck. It was brown, and for some reason, she just really liked how it looked on her. With the exception of the pearls, she thought she looked rather nice.

"Well, that's because you're an autumn. I like it too. But it's muggle."

"It's the weekend. I can wear what I like. Hogsmeade doesn't have a dress code, last I checked." She realized she sounded a bit cutting, but seeing as it was Lavender, she didn't really care.

"You know, you have such nice features. One day you should let me give you a makeover. I was talking to Professor Gregarson, and she said she wants to give Snape a makeover--it would be fun to do it on the same day! The two ugly ducklings of Hogwarts, suddenly swans!" Lavender beamed at he prospect, then walked off, chatting animatedly about what they think would look good on Hermione, and how they doubted Snape could ever be handsome.

Hermione felt like she had been doused in cold water. They had referred to her as the ugly duckling. Not to mention the fact they'd said it about Snape as well. Although Hermione didn't much care for appearance, she did know that she wasn't a model by any means. She would never give up her intelligence to look good, no she was quite proud of her brain, but that didn't mean that she had never once imagined what it would be like to be attractive. Of course she envied those who were pretty. She was merely plain, at best.

The fact she was hurt by the comment, even though only a little, did not go unnoticed by Ginny. "You're not ugly, Hermione. They are."

"No, they're not," Hermione said bluntly. "And yes, I am."

"No, Hermione. Do you honestly think any boyfriend they ever have will last longer than their new socks? They're ugly, Hermione. You just have to look with a different set of eyes, really. You're pretty."

Hermione felt loads better. As usual, the envy she felt towards those who were pretty was fleeting. Beauty was on the inside, and she felt much better now that Ginny had been comparing their inner beauty than outer. "When did you get so smart, Ginny?"

"Must have been last year when you were off finding horcruxes. Someone had to be the resident brain. Don't worry, though--you still wear the smarty pants in the family." Hermione smiled at Ginny. "Anyway, so he actually asked you if you like Ron?"

"Yes. But he's right, you know. I mean, I really should tell him how I feel, because . . . Well, no offence, but--"

"He's too clingy? Yeah. Ron's like that. And I'm pretty sure he thinks you fancy him. You are still wearing his present." Hermione touched the necklace, frowning slightly. "I'm glad you enjoyed my present, too."

"Oh, yes. It wasn't as cliché as romance novels normally are."

Hermione reached back and tried undoing her necklace, but she was having a rather hard time with it, so she brought her hands back down. She always had a hard time putting necklaces on and taking them off. It was one of the reasons she hated wearing them. "Yes, well . . . Professor Snape was right. It's rude of me to let him think I'm still interested."

"Well, I'm planning on taking Harry out for a drink, so you could tell Ron then, when you're alone."

"All right, thanks. I wouldn't want to do it in front of Harry. I mean, I don't want to humiliate Ron."

"He's more than capable of doing that by himself," Ginny pointed out teasingly, but Hermione caught her loving tone.

"Where are you taking Harry?" she asked, and she hoped that it wasn't to the Hog's Head. It would be too awkward to talk to Snape with Harry watching her.

"Madam Puddifoot's. I know he hates it there, but it's not nearly as crowded as The Three Broomsticks--well, unless it's Valentines Day. So don't worry, we won't go anywhere near the Hog's Head. You and Snape can have your privacy."

"What? No, I don't--I don't care, Ginny, really, we're just talking, it's not like we're committing a crime for Merlin's sake! Really!" The knowing look in Ginny's brown eyes only made that smirk look haughtier. Hermione sighed. "All right, I do mind. But not because of anything . . . romantic or what have you, but because I . . . well, can you imagine how Harry would react to see me talking with him? He'd want me to talk with you two, which would ruin your moment."

"Even if there was something romantic between you two, there's nothing illegal about it. You're nineteen, and you were supposed to graduate last year."

"But there isn't, and it's still against school policy for teachers and students to have . . . romantic affiliations."

"It's happened before, you know. McGonagall married her student. Of course, they didn't marry until the year after he graduated, but they were dating his entire seventh year. She's a full twenty years older than him."

Hermione frowned. "Well, yeah, but . . . How did you know that?"

"I asked. You knew she was married, didn't you? It never occurred to you to ask who her husband was?"

"Well, I--I thought that was rather personal . . ." Hermione was stunned. A few years ago, she would have been hurt, offended, that her head of house broke school regulations, but for some reason, at that moment, she felt somewhat relieved.

"Speaking of romance, I don't think our plan is working. I've tried writing those letters in Snape's voice--and I think I'm really good about characterization--and it just doesn't work with Gregarson. His personality clashes with hers. So I make him a bit more charming, and a little more focused on her than anyone with a proper brain should be. If they do get together, how long do you think it'll be before they realize that they're different? I mean, if Gregarson falls for Snape, she's really not falling for him, but for a charming version of him. And I've read the letters you write to him--you don't even try to sound like her. You're writing as yourself. If he falls for those letters he falls for you. And Gregarson is nothing like you, and my Snape is nothing like him, so it won't last, if they do get together, because she'll expect some doting puppy dog who can sweep her off her feet with a flirtatious phrase, and he'll be expecting . . . you. No matter how hard we try to put them together, he'll still be the blunt git that he is, and she'll be the self-absorbed bint that she is."

"I don't know, Ginny. It seems pointless, doesn't it? And he doesn't even seem all that interested in Gregarson in my letters, anyway."

Ginny smirked a little, and it worried Hermione at how impish she seemed. "No, he seems far more interested in your lip and how you bite it. Or what you talk about."

"Come on, Ginny, if Snape had feelings for me, I'm sure he would have made it known. Honestly. What we would he see in me, anyway?"

"I don't know, the fact that you talk with him every week. You two have conversations over hot cocoa--cocoa you make, incidentally, don't forget to brew some tonight, after Hogsmeade, or at least tomorrow--and he _did_ practically ask you on a date."

"It's not a date," Hermione muttered, turning away from Ginny, feeling her cheeks blush, and wondering why she was suddenly frustrated. She went over to the mirror and looked at her reflection, trying to focus on anything but that pearl necklace. She tried to take the necklace off again, but her attempts were futile, and it stayed on her throat.

"Come on, let's not keep the boys waiting," Ginny said, grabbing Hermione's arm and nudging her in the direction of the door.

* * *

Severus waited at the Hog's Head, but not patiently. At first he tried to tell himself that he was not waiting for Miss Granger, that it didn't matter to him if she managed to shake of Weasley or not. But when he realized that every time the door opened he turned to see who entered and would feel extremely disappointed when it wasn't her, he knew it was fruitless to lie to himself.

He wanted to talk with her. It seemed that talking over hot chocolate was not enough. Then again, it didn't really surprise him that he wanted to talk to her so badly--with the exception of her and Draco, nobody gave him the time of day. Severus wasn't necessarily laconic. He knew he could be quite chatty under the right circumstances. It was more like nobody wanted to talk to him.

Except for Gregarson. For some reason. He didn't mind talking to her in letters. He actually loved her letters. If she acted the way she did in letters, he might actually be interested in her. If she acted like she did in the letters, it would have been her he asked to talk with him at the Hog's Head instead of Miss Granger. Perhaps. Maybe. He did rather like talking to Miss Granger.

But Severus could never fancy a girl who couldn't be herself. He knew she was intelligent--Draco had told him that she was, surprisingly, a good teacher, and actually knew her subject. She also tended to talk about herself a lot, according to his favourite pupil. She had good scores and mostly everybody in her classes were passing, and actually understood the material. So she was bright, and beautiful. But she was so incredibly full of herself in person. Severus could never be with someone who was like that. If the letter version of herself was really her, he wouldn't want to be with someone who was so concerned with image that she lied about her personality to the world. If the woman who sat beside him during breakfast, lunch, and dinner who constantly barged into his classroom without knocking was the real her, he wouldn't want to be with someone like that anyway, nor would he want to be with someone who would change her personality in a letter to impress a boy. He would gladly spend time with the letter version of her--if she was like that always.

What the hell was taking Miss Granger so long to shake off Mister Weasley?

Severus was past the point of trying to pretend he didn't want to really talk to her. He wanted to. He would talk to her any day of the week. He would give her more extra lessons. He would take miss Granger shopping with him in London. Miss Granger was intelligent, and interesting, and didn't hate him. Most of all, she was confident with herself. And easily flustered.

It wasn't that he had feelings for her. Of course he didn't. She was just a student. But he did enjoy her company. Really, that was all. If Severus had such a thing as friends, he would consider her a friend. But he didn't have friends. He had people that he despised, and people that he didn't dislike. Well, there was the Malfoy family, but that was something entirely different.

Really, if she wanted to be with the Weasley boy so much she couldn't do something as simple as give him the slip, then perhaps she should just go date the prat.

The fact that he sat there for hours made it impossible to deny that he wanted to talk with her. He had other things to do. Yet, he would rather sit here and wait just to talk with her than do any essay correcting.

After a mug of firewhiskey, the door opened and he turned to see if it was her. Instead, it was Gregarson. One mug of firewhiskey wasn't' enough to deal with this, so he quickly ordered another, which only brought her attention to him.

"Sevvy, hey!" she exclaimed, sounding far more excited than she looked.

He waited for Aberforth to bring him that new mug of firewhiskey. "My name is Severus," he growled, hating his life intensely when she chose to sit across from him.

She, apparently, didn't hear him, although he had no idea how she couldn't have. "So, about our little argument this morning, what the hell was your problem?"

"I don't need you exclaiming to the world that I would rather speak to Miss Granger than you."

"Speak _of_._"_ Severus raised an eyebrow at her questioningly. What was that about? "You said speak to. Anyway, I wasn't being serious. I know that you don't."

"Our _gracious_ headmistress cornered me today, demanding for me to explain because of you."

"What did you say?"

"I told her that I enjoyed speaking with Miss Granger more than I liked speaking with you," he stated bluntly. It wasn't a lie, either--that was exactly what he'd told McGonagall. McGonagall simply laughed and walked off, seeing as she shared a dislike of Gregarson's attitude, although she approved of her teaching ability. Although most of the staff had seemed to fall under Gregarson's spell, but McGonagall has caught onto the fact that although she was intelligent, she was deeply stupid.

Gregarson just laughed, as if he'd said something rather funny.

Aberforth gave him a mug of firewhiskey, and Severus downed it. Perhaps he should move closer to the bar rather than sit at the table. But he hated the barstools. So he opted to stay at the table, as drank his firewhiskey.

"You know, what you said about Sirius was uncalled for. I loved him, you know."

He put down his mug, realizing it was only a third empty. He would have to drink faster. "And I loved Lily, yet you have no qualms bringing her up."

"You started it."

"And as I recall, I'm not the one who refers to myself as charming."

Gregarson then went off on a long tired, explaining her wonderful relationship with Sirius Black and also the one she'd had with Peter Pettigrew. Even though he had never really liked her, he remembered her being far less annoying when she was a student. It was an odd change. Normally people matured as they got older.

She certainly talked about herself a lot, didn't she?

As she spoke, Severus continued to drink his whiskey, feeling his buzz slowly strengthen, until he was downright pissed. He was drunk. Gregarson was so annoying that even though he was drunk, he still couldn't find her interesting.

He was more concerned with the fact Miss Granger was still not there, and he figured that she had forgotten him, or never planned on seeing him in the first place, or was busy snogging with that idiot to care much about coming to the Hog's Head. He could imagine Weasley's hands sliding all over Miss Granger's body, his mouth kissing her face, her collarbone, her mouth . . . He could see him bringing in her bottom lip, the lips she always bit, flicking his tongue into her mouth . . . Her hands all over him, pressing against him, her moaning quietly while that stupid, inexperienced boy snogged her . . .

Severus could do so much better than Weasley. Not that he was a some sort of man who constantly slept with woman and discarded him, and he didn't have mountains of experience--he wasn't Sirius Black, after all--but he was sure he could please Miss Gran--er, any woman more than Weasley ever could.

Severus felt a familiar sensation in his groin when his mind wandered--without his permission--to Miss Granger, and that _he_ was running his hands across her, kissing her gently, feeling her hands on his chest, then encircling him, bring him closer . . . Yes, he liked this thought much better than the thoughts of her and Weasley.

"Are you even listening to me?" demanded Gregarson.

He realized that he hadn't been paying attention to her for quite a long time. He glanced at the clock. She's talked about herself for longer than an hour, and she had just realized he wasn't paying attention?

"No, actually, I'm not," he slurred, glaring at her.

"What the hell were you doing then?"

"Thinking about snogging," he answered bluntly. "It would have progressed into shagging had you not interrupted." _Shagging a student?_ he thought. _This is the last time I ever drink firewhiskey._

He figured that she would have been angry, but instead she smiled. Wickedly. "Are you drunk, Sevvy?"

"Yes, and it's bloody wonderful. And don't call me that horrid name ever again, Gregarson."

She stood up from her seat and flounced over to him. She grabbed his hand and tugged him out of his death so that he was standing before her. His head felt fuzzy and he swayed a little bit. Just how much had he drank?

"Don't let me interrupt your thoughts again," she whispered huskily, then kissed him. He felt her hand on his hardened cock through his robes, and she started rubbing him. It felt good, so he kissed her back, moaning a little, when he remembered that this was Gregarson he was kissing and not Hermi--someone else.

Despite the fact it felt amazing to have someone other than himself touch that area, he shoved her away. She stumbled and nearly fell, while he swayed and had to use the table to prevent himself from toppling over. "Get the hell off me," he growling, staring at her, although she was fuzzy.

"Come on, Sevvy," she said, standing in front of him, her hand positioning itself over the bulge in his robes.

He shoved her again. "Get off you disgusting trollop!" Knowing that it was Gregarson who had tried to please him disgusted him so much he could feel his hard-on softening.

Gregarson sputtered for a moment, then she stormed out of the Hog's Head. Severus sat back at the table and looked at his half empty mug.

He looked at the door again, and realized that Miss Granger would probably not show up.

After this mug, he would go. It was obvious to him that the other person that would ever be interested in him was Black and Wormtail's filthy trollop, and to wait here for anyone else would be pointless.

* * *

Hermione promised herself that she was going to tell Ron that she didn't have feeling for him. She really did. But she just . . . couldn't. He was having so much fun, looking at all of the shops with Harry and Ginny and her. She couldn't possibly ruing this day for him. It seemed far to cruel. She wanted to tell him one-on-one in the common room, during a normal day. She didn't want to be a kill joy.

She nearly managed to give them all the slip when they were at Honeydukes, but then Harry roped her up in a conversation with Ron. She had a feeling that Harry was trying to push them together. Perhaps he thought that he could play cupid with someone other than Snape now. She really didn't like that thought, because she just didn't like Ron like that anymore.

It was dusk by the time Ginny gathered the courage to ask Harry to Madam Puddifoot's. Which left her, alone with Ron, at The Three Broomsticks.

For a few minutes they just sipped their butterbeer silently, awkwardness swelling with each second.

"Well, I'm going to turn in for the night," Hermione said suddenly, getting up from the table.

Ron stood up quickly, tossing down some knuts for a tip. "Here, let me walk you," he said, coming up beside her.

"No, I'm fine. You should wait for Harry and Ginny--they said they'd be back, and they might get offended if you're not here. I'm just not feeling well," she said, lying about the not feeling well part. She couldn't feel better. She was off to see Snape and actually have a decent conversation.

She could tell Ron wanted to insist, but he thought better of it apparently, because he just nodded sadly. "Oh, okay." She smiled at him, then he grabbed her hand, and pressed his mouth to hers quickly before he pulled away and cleared his throat.

The kiss was so quick she didn't even realize he kissed her until it was over. She felt a complete lack of feeling. It was like kissing her mother.

She blinked a few times and tried to say something, but nothing came to her mind. So she smiled briefly at him, then turned around and left The Three Broomsticks.

It wasn't until she was halfway to the Hog's Head that she started reacting. Ron had kissed her. Did that mean they were going out now? She didn't want to go out with Ron! Why had he kissed her? Why hadn't she said something? Now he was going to think she fancied him! "Oh, good going, Hermione," she grumbled to herself.

She was so angry at the whole situation that she wanted to be rid of the stupid necklace he gave her. Maybe if she stopped wearing it, he wouldn't try and kiss her again.

She bumped into somebody and stumbled backwards a bit, trying to take off the necklace but she couldn't get a hold of the clasp. She looked at who she'd bumped into. "Professor Gregarson," she greeted with a smile, fruitlessly trying to take off the necklace.

Gregarson looked upset over something, but then she just smiled. "Oh, hey! Were you in the Great Hall this morning?"

"No . . . but I heard about your row with Professor Snape and how you kissed him," she said, not even trying to hide the fact she was annoyed. She wasn't sure if she was annoyed at Gregarson's behaviour, at Ron kissing her, or the fact she couldn't get her necklace off. Or a combination of both.

"Yes, well," she muttered, sneering slightly, folding her arms. Even though she was in her thirties, she looked very much like a petulant child. Hermione marvelled at the fact she was half her age and more mature than Gregarson was. "Seems he still doesn't want to kiss me. Thinks he's above me? Hah, I'd like to see anyone else who's interested."

She then stormed off, muttering darkly, and Hermione watched her walk off, confused .What was she going on about ?Had she just come from The Hog's Head? Did she just try and kiss Snape again? Hermione let out a smug little chuckle. Gregarson really was stupid--despite the fact she was smart.

Hermione walked into The Hog's Head to see Snape walking towards the door. "Sorry I'm so late, Professor, but it was harder to sneak off than I thought," she said.

He looked at her, or really, looked past her, and he face broke out into a grin. He didn't even try to suppress his smile. He looked as if someone had thrown a pile of gold at his feet. She had no idea why he would look so happy to see her. She figured he would be irritated for having to wait so long.

"Miss Granger!" he exclaimed as he strode over to her. His stride was more of a long-legged sway, and if that wasn't enough of a tip off that he was drunk, the fact that he pulled her into a tight hug that lifted her an inch off the ground only made it more obvious.

"Er . . . Professor . . ." she started, her voice muffled because of the fact her mouth was pressed against his chest.

He settled her back down on the ground, but kept his arms around her. This was more comfortable, seeing as her face was next to his so she could actually breathe.

"I thought you forgot me," he slurred into her ear in a stage whisper..

Somehow, his harsh breath form the stage whisper tickled her ear and sent shivers down her spine, which made her arch against him. He moaned for some reason, and it made her feel strange. Her throat was dry and it felt like she couldn't get enough air in her lungs. "I wouldn't forget you, honestly, Professor."

"Hmm . . ." he hummed, and he nuzzled against the side of her face.

That only made her arch against him again, and her heart beat faster. "All right, okay . . . So, I'm here."

He pulled away from her, a dazed look in his eyes, his breath smelling of alcohol. He swayed a bit and blinked a few times, as if trying to focus. "I am glad. Gregarson was here earlier, and she was a right imbecile. She grabbed my crotch."

Hermione couldn't help but laughed. For some reason, the word sounded funny to her. Plus, professor Snape saying it whilst drunk was funnier. And the fact that Gregarson actually had the audacity to do that. The fact that she was laughing apparently made him laugh, and so they both laughed raucously for awhile.

He was still holding onto her arm and she could feel the fact that his laughter was making his body weak because and he stumbled, almost falling over. She grabbed him, one hand on either side of his abdomen, and tried to hold him steady. He laughed a bit and put his head on her shoulder.

Hermione seemed to realize at the same time that he did that she was holding his chest, because they both stopped laughing.

He pulled his head away from her shoulder and their eyes met. His black eyes, although they were slightly unfocused, had an intensity in them that would have frightened if it didn't . . . well, arouse her.

Oh, God. Snape just _aroused_ her.

She removed her hands from his chest and stepped away, clearing her throat and feeling herself blush. "I wanted you to be here all day. I waited for you. Then she came. She kissed me . . . I wished she were you."

"I wished I could have been here earlier too," she said, forcing herself to assume that he didn't mean he wished that he'd been kissing Hermione, and that he just meant that Gregarson being there. "But Ron was being . . . Well . . ."

He brushed her bushy, unmanageable hair away from her face, his knuckles brushing down her cheek. "How did you manage to escape him?" he asked slowly, his words slurring together and voice lower than normal.

"Er, I told him I wasn't feeling well and wanted to turn in early. Then he kissed me."

"Oh?" he said, the back of his fingers trailing down the side of her throat. He stood directly in front of her and she held her breath. He hands went behind her neck and he undid the pearl necklace. She had no idea how he did it while drunk. Then again, he was very dexterous. He held the pearl necklace in front of her and smirked.

She took it from him and stuffed it in her pocket. "Seems like we were both kissed today," she said, unable to look away form his eyes. "Twice for you," she added a second later, remembering that Gregarson had kissed him in front of the Great Hall--or at least, that's what she heard.

"Competing, are we?" he said. "I suppose I win . . ."

Hermione furrowed his eyebrows. He was a very odd drunk.

"I'd be happier with a tie, though," he said in a thoughtful way.

"What?" Hermione really didn't understand him at the moment.

Then he brushed his lips against hers. Shivers shot down her spine and her heart skipped a beat. This was nothing like kissing Ron. Even though it was soft and short, it felt different. She closed her eyes and leaned against him for a moment, feeling him bring in her bottom lip, when she remembered that he was her professor, and drunk at that.

She jerked her head away form his, feeling breathless and tingly.

"Sorry . . ." he muttered, taking a step away from her.

"No, it's fine, really, sir. It's just, you're drunk, and I don't want to take advantage of you. I'm not Gregarson, and I won't do something as vile as that."

"As vile as kissing me?" he asked, and his dark eyes narrowed.

"No, taking advantage of you, sir. You're drunk, it would be wrong of me--"

"I suppose if someone like Sirius Black or Gilderoy Lockhart kissed you, you wouldn't reject them!"

That was like a smack to the face ."That isn't what this is about! I don't care for them at all! It just isn't right to take advantage of someone in a drunken state! Perhaps if you were sober, well, then--"

He was in her face suddenly, and she felt scared for the first time in awhile. She didn't think he'd actually hit her, but she'd never met a drunk Snape before, and had no idea what he was like. "You and I both know that if I were sober we wouldn't be in this position!"

"Professor, I--I don't' know, it's just--well, you would never kiss me sober, because you don't--you don't have feelings for me--"

"I envy pretty people," he spat, then walked past her, slamming his shoulder into hers while he tottered out of the Hog's Head.

Hermione sighed, then rushed out of the Hog's Head, grabbing his arm and forcing him to turn. He swayed and for a moment she thought he was going to fall, but he steadied himself. "Professor, please," she started.

"You don't' know how easy people like you have it."

"People like me?"

"Pretty," he spat.

"I'm not pretty," she stated.

He looked her up and down, then scoffed. "You're beautiful, Miss Granger."

Hermione wondered if he was really saying what he thought. She read somewhere that when people were drunk, they said the truth. But she hadn't had much experience with drunk people. But she really hoped it was true, because she had never been called beautiful before in her life. Well, with the exception of Viktor. Either way, it wasn't something she heard a lot.

She reached up and held his jaw. He looked at her as if she'd grown another head, then she put her mouth on his. She kissed him softly. She didn't part his mouth or coax him into anything more passionate. She just kissed him gently, then pulled away, smiling at him. "You're beautiful, too," she said, and she meant it.

He smiled the tiniest bit.

"Now I think we should get you to your quarters."


	14. Violation

Chapter 14: Violation

Walking a drunk Snape to his quarters was a bit more difficult than Hermione had anticipated. First off, the man had the attention span of a child. He was constantly pointing out random things to her, and insisted on explaining how they worked. And second of all, he had mood swings. He would be cheery and chatty one second, and the next start sniffling and insist that he was a horrible man who didn't deserve to live. Luckily for her, it didn't take too long for them to get to his quarters.

"Well, here we are, sir," she said with a smile.

He looked at his door as if he'd never seen a door in his entire life. "My quarters?" he said dully, as if he didn't quite know for sure.

"Yes, your quarters."

He turned a stunned look in her direction. "You walked me to my quarters?"

"Yes, sir." She smiled at him.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Miss Granger?" he asked incredulously, as if truly shocked.

"What? No."

"As it is, I will have to decline on the seduction. I have a feeling I am going to vomit within the next ten minutes, and that would really put a damper on the entire situation." He nodded importantly.

She had to clear her throat to hide her chuckle. "Yes. Well. I'll see you later, Professor."

"On Monday," he reminded, as if she were the drunk one and had forgotten.

"Of course," she said.

He nodded. "Well, goodnight." And without another wasted second, he opened the door to his quarters and slammed it shut. A moment later she heard retching, and deemed it prudent to leave. After all, she wouldn't have wanted him listening to her vomit; why would he be different?

* * *

Hermione had been up a bit late, listening to Lavender talk and giggle for quite a long time with one of her new friends. Out of all the people from her year to take a year off in fear of Voldemort and have to take her seventh year late, why on earth did it have to be her? Hermione knew that Lavender wasn't really all that bad, in fact she heard Lavender could be quite sweet, but she was sure that her dislike of her stemmed from the incident with her and "Won-Won" in her sixth year. And Lavender certainly wasn't kind to Hermione--although, she could really see why, seeing as Ron had apparently spoken only of Hermione the last few weeks of their relationship. Still, it was just her luck that Lavender had to be the only one to come back the same time she did. Most of her year had contributed in some way to the war, or had at least decided to be home taught or not come back at all. More than a few of the students in her year and been killed. The one she felt most badly about was Neville--he had taken it upon himself to dispose of Bellatrix, and not surprisingly, he'd been no match for her. It would have been much nicer had he survived--she rather missed him in moments like this. She would have rather been helping him with his homework than listen to the cuteness of famous Quidditch players when she wanted to be sleeping.

Eventually Lavender and her new friend's laughter and conversation died down and they fell asleep, leaving Hermione to ponder the drunken kiss Snape had given her. Of course it meant nothing--he'd been drunk. But a part of her realized that he had pushed Gregarson away because she disgusted him, so obviously he could have pushed her away, but he hadn't.

She knew she shouldn't want to think about the implications of that, but she did. However, because she felt like even thinking about her professor in a romantic way broke the rules, she quickly shoved those thoughts away and told herself it was all the alcohol's doing.

She'd fancied Lockhart and hadn't felt the least bit guilty or anxious when fantasizing about him. But there was a difference between imagining Lockhart liking her in return and knowing it could never happen as opposed to fantasizing about Snape when it was very possible he liked her in return. The reality of it thrilled her, yet at the same time, worried her.

What was she thinking? Of course it wasn't reality, and of course she wasn't imagining Snape kissing her. She only regarded him as a professor, and nothing more. And he only regarded her as a student. It was the alcohol's fault. Why on earth would she even play with the thought of it being otherwise?

Ginny came in quite awhile later, and Hermione sat up, smiling at her.

"Hermione, oh good, you're awake--Harry asked me out again! We're dating! Oh, it was so sweet how he did it, too--he was so nervous, and finally he just blurted it out in mid-sentence." Ginny's face was nearly as red as her hair, and her mouth was wide in a grin.

"Really? That's wonderful, Ginny, really."

Ginny's grin faltered, and she sighed. "What happened?"

"Nothing. I just . . . Well, he kissed me," she said dully.

"Who did? Ron or Snape?" she asked, rushing over to her bed and sitting on the side.

For a moment she considered telling her that both had, but she realized how inappropriate that would sound and it didn't even really merit mentioning--never mind the fact Lavender was sleeping a few feet away--so she scoffed. "Ron, obviously."

"And . . . how did that go?"

"I don't know, I just . . . left him and went to the Hog's Head."

"Hermione . . . You really should tell him how you feel. I don't really like Snape, but I agree--I'd rather be turned down than be led on." Ginny reached forward and patted Hermione's hand, then her eyes went to her collarbone. "The necklace is off. Well, I suppose that's a start."

"Professor Snape took it off of me," she informed with a sigh. "He was drunk."

"Was he?"

"Yes. Apparently he thought I'd forgotten or something. Oh, and Gregarson tried to take advantage of him--while he was drunk and she was sober! Honestly, what's wrong with her? That's just highly inappropriate. Anyway, he was quite upset about it. I would have been too--she grabbed his, well . . . She grabbed his crotch," she added the last part quietly. Talking about Snape's crotch with Ginny wasn't exactly what she wanted to do at the moment.

Ginny blinked a few times, her brown eyes wide. "Seriously?"

"Yes."

"There's something wrong with that woman," Ginny muttered.

"Obviously."

"But did you and Snape have a nice talk?"

"Not really. I just walked him to his quarters. That's about it."

Ginny nodded, then she chuckled a little. "It sort of, well . . . It sort of reminds me of when Somnurus was drunk and Persephone came across him in the pub. You know, in _An Open Page._ It was the first time he admitted he thought she was attractive. I always liked that part."

Hermione smiled and nodded, feeling that Ginny was prying more than she was reminiscing. She wasn't about to open up and tell her everything that had happened. She wouldn't have told Ron or Harry and they were her best friends, never mind Ginny. "Yes, well, it was far less interesting than that," she said, although it was actually more interesting--Somnurus hadn't even kissed Persephone. "So it went well with Harry?" she said, wanting to get the attention off of her.

"Oh, yeah, it went lovely. I'm glad we're going out again. Oh, and we spent the better part of our date snogging, and he was all nervous and kept blushing--honestly, it's like we'd never snogged before." She rolled her eyes, but there was a fond smile on her face. "But it was really sweet. I'm so glad I've found someone I could actually talk to. I could never really talk to any of my other boyfriends." Hermione smiled and nodded. She felt happy for Ginny, she really did--she just couldn't concentrate fully on the story because she was still thinking about Snape kissing her and how good it had felt, although she had told herself she wasn't going to think about it anymore.

Ginny seemed to have caught onto the fact Hermione was lost in her thoughts, and nodded. "Well, I'm a bit tired, so I'm gonna get on to bed," she announced, although Hermione noticed she didn't really look at all tired. She got up and started over to her bed, then she turned back to face Hermione. "Look, Hermione, I'm telling you this as a friend--not as Ron's sister, and not as Harry's girlfriend--but as your friend, all right?"

Hermione nodded, getting the feeling that it wasn't going to be something she wanted to hear.

"Just because you don't like him anymore doesn't mean you didn't feel for him. It doesn't make you shallow, or what you felt any less real. You're not a bad person for not liking Ron anymore, understand? But a good person--and you are a good person--wouldn't lead him on to think differently. People move on, Hermione. And I know my brother, and he's an idiot, and believe me, he will keep coming on to you, flirting with you, thinking you like him, unless you tell him differently. No one likes to turn someone down, but . . . Well, you have to tell him."

"I know, Ginny . . . It's just that--"

"No, I don't want an excuse. I left you two alone and gave you enough time to do it, and you didn't. And now I'm talking as Ron's sister, understand? You hurt my brother by letting him think you like him when you don't, and I'll hex you into oblivion, understand? You're better than that, Hermione. So stop."

Hermione looked at Ginny, and saw her brown eyes darken with seriousness. Feeling a bit like a reprimanded child, Hermione nodded and lied down in her bed, covering herself with her blanket. Although she was quiet and kept her eyes closed, she didn't fall asleep until much later.

* * *

Hermione felt a not-so-gentle prod in her side and she opened her eyes sluggishly. There sky outside her window was a light blue-grey, barely filling in the dormitory with light, but just enough for her to see that Dobby was on her bed, squatting, head tilted to the side and his big, green eyes blinking curiously.

Seeing him there shocked her slightly so she jumped a little, but then she just sat up and rubbed her eyes. "What is it, Dobby?" she groaned, her tiredness slowly wearing off.

"You have a letter, Hermione Granger," he said, handing it over, the motion of him moving his arm causing his strange hat to wobble dangerously, and when she took the letter from him, he fixed its position on his head.

"Who's this from?" she asked, still too tired to see properly. Besides, it still wasn't quite bright enough for her to read the name on the envelope.

"Professor Severus Snape, Miss. You told Dobby that any letters he writes to Miss Meredith Gregarson was to be brought to you, Miss." He nodded again, his tall hat bobbing again, and he had to fix it once more.

"When did he write this?" she asked.

"Just now, Miss." He nodded at her, then with a pop, disappeared off of her bed. House elves had been quite useful to their side in the Final Battle--apparently, they could do a lot more than Apparate in Hogwarts.

Seeing as it wasn't light enough for her to read it yet, although the sky was lightening rather quickly, she quickly got dressed by throwing on the first pair of robes she could find--blue ones--and she left the dormitory with a yawn.

When she made it into the common room, she was not surprised at all to find that she was alone. It was a Sunday, after all. Quite early on a Sunday, too.

She sat down by the fire, and opened the letter. Although it was addressed to Gregarson and not her, she did feel a bit anxious.

_Gregarson--_

_I am absolutely appalled at your behaviour last night. Or, to be frank, all of yesterday. As if embarrassing me in the Great Hall wasn't enough, the display you put on at the Hog's Head was completely inappropriate. What you did was a form of harassment that makes me absolutely sick--I was inebriated, and you were not, and you attempted to get me into your bed._

_Did you think that because you are female it was all right for you to molest me as you did? Did it never occur to you that males could be harassed as well as females? How would you have felt had you been drunk and I took advantage of your state? Do you not think at all?_

_Disregarding the fact I was drunk, what on God's green earth ever made you think I wanted you to do that? Perhaps I have been civil in my letters to you, but that is no excuse for you to do as you did. As I have plainly stated to you on multiple times, I am in no way interested in you romantically--or at all. I have been quite cruel with you at times, and I am having a hard time understanding which of those statements you misinterpreted as me making an advance. Perhaps the one where I called you Sirius Black's cast-off, or the one where I called you filthy trollop?_

_What astounds me is that some of the students here seem like mature adults when compared to you. You act like a simpering, whining child. Miss Granger happened to be walking by the Hog's Head as I left, and she was actually more of an adult than you are--she was concerned about me, and in no way did she try to force herself on me. How does that make you feel, knowing that a nineteen-year-old is more mature than you could ever hope to be?_

_At any rate, I am writing to tell you that I am beyond angry with you. You sicken me in ways I cannot explain. It's occurred to me that the person you are in the letters is not the person you are in reality, given last night's circumstance, and as such, I do not want you writing back. I do not want any explanations; I do not want you to apologize. I want you to cease talking with me. Any letters I receive from you will be subsequently burned. I will not even bother to read them._

_--Severus Snape_

Hermione sat there with her mouth open slightly, and reread the letter several times. At no point had she thought that their matchmaking scheme would cause so many problems. It hadn't even occurred to her that what Gregarson did could make Professor Snape feel violated. What made her feel even worse was that the letters Ginny had written to Gregarson may have made her think he would want her to advance on him--but given what he had been saying to her in person, how could she have thought that?

Hermione couldn't help but feel that this was her fault--well, not just her fault, but the fault of the matchmaking plan they'd formulated. That she had taken part in.

Well, that was coming to an end tonight. Snape was more than capable of getting his own girlfriend, and as noble as her intentions had been, she realized that meddling was wrong.

And as for this letter, it was going straight to Gregarson.

No longer tired, Hermione strode out of the dormitory and went to Gregarson's quarters, shoving the letter underneath the door. With a sigh, she turned on her heel and started towards the Great Hall, too awake to go back to the dormitory and try to sleep, and too hungry to do anything else but eat breakfast.

When she turned the corner, she bumped into someone. That someone steadied her to prevent her from falling, and she blushed a little.

"You'd think you'd never learned to walk, Granger, the way you blunder right into things," Malfoy sneered, looking her over.

She sighed slightly. "I'm sorry, all right? I was . . . distracted."

"Apparently."

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows thoughtfully. "What are you doing up here?"

"I was, um . . . Well, to be honest . . . I was going to your common room."

"Why?"

"Do you want to have breakfast with me?" he asked. "I was going to try and manipulate you into eating with me, but the fact is, I'm bloody tired, and I was going to whine a bit and get you to pity me so you would, then I was going to casually mention halfway through breakfast I was failing History of Magic and hope you would help me with it. Can we just skip that and have you eat with me and help me with my essay because, to be honest, I really don't have the patience today, and if you don't help me, and I do fail, I will not graduate--McGonagall only accepted me back on the terms I would pass all of my classes. And no, I'm not lying about that to get you to pity me--I can even show you the parchment she sent to my house, if you like."

Hermione was stunned by his bluntness. She hadn't seen much of him lately--he stopped by every now and then when Harry asked for his help on their matchmaking plan, but that was it. "Well, of course I'll help, all you have to do is ask. But, um, why are you asking me?"

"Surely you've noticed you're smart, Granger," he pointed out with a sneer.

"Well, yes, but I just meant, well, you don't really like me, and I'm sure you have people in Slytehrin who'd like to help."

"Slytherins make the worst friends. Wait, let me rephrase that--the people I associated myself with were the worst friends. Any decent Slytherins wouldn't have bothered to hang out with me then, why would they now? I've gone and ruined my reputation, so the people I used to be friends with won't go near me, and anyone decent I hated and treated like scum on the bottom of my shoes, and so they obviously won't speak to me either. And if you point out the fact that at some point in the past few months I had an epiphany and realized I was a huge prat, I will hex you."

Hermione noticed that he looked around the hallways and shifted his weight onto his other foot slightly, and realized that he looked vulnerable for a second. Hermione wasn't stupid--Malfoy wouldn't have come to her unless he really needed to, and even then he wouldn't have told her the exact reason why without manipulating her. Malfoy couldn't ask for directions without manipulating the person giving them in fear they wouldn't do it.

She put her hand on his arm and he flinched away from her as if she were contaminated. "Look, if you don't want to do it, fine. I'm sure you wouldn't mind me getting expelled from Hogwarts. In fact, if you and your precious idiot friends want to have a laugh at my expense, fine, but don't toy around with me--just tell me so I don't waste more time than I have to, all right? I didn't want to ask you for help."

"This really means something to you, doesn't it? I mean, you wouldn't have gone to me otherwise."

Malfoy sighed and looked away from her, a slight scowl on his face. He ran his hand over his slicked-back hair. "Nobody in my family has ever worked for what they got. But me? I take pride in working for what I get. It means I actually earned it, and therefore, people will look at me with respect, do you understand? And now, with the Second War over, everybody's making it difficult for me. Sod getting a job at the Ministry. But I am a Malfoy, and no matter what you think about my family, that still means something to me, and we do not sit idly by and let people ruin our lives, and I won't let my father ruin my life for me or my children, and for once, I want to be known as someone who got something done by hard work and not giving up--not as the kid who got something done by running home to Daddy, because obviously, that tactic doesn't work anymore."

She stared at him. He was refusing to look at her and she could tell by the way he kept shifting his weight that he felt awkward spilling all of this out, but she had to admit, the little prat had matured. As he hinted at himself, he had once been the guy who ran home to his daddy whenever something went wrong, but now he was willing to work for what he got. Of course, he wanted to do it simply to look good to others and to clear his family name, which was just like him, but she still felt a little bad for him.

"I'll help you, Draco," she said, putting a delicate stress on his name.

He looked at her, sneering. "Draco? Since when have we been on first name basis, Granger?"

Well, that went splendidly. "Fine. Malfoy."

"Much better. So let's have breakfast. I won't mind if you sit by me, but if you do, expect dirty glares. And don't try to idly chat with me, I'm allowing you to sit by me for one reason only--to help me with my essay, understood?"

He couldn't have made himself plainer. "Understood."

* * *

One of the greatest things to ever be invented was a hangover potion. After the amount of alcohol Severus consumed, it was no surprise that a headache woke him up at an ungodly hour. After he spent awhile trying to force himself back to sleep, he decided that the burning pain in his temples and the slight burning and irritation in his throat would prevent any sort of sleep.

After showering and brushing his teeth, he wrote a letter to Gregarson that he felt would reassure her of his affections. If she did not understand that she was an abomination to existence in his eyes after reading what he wrote, than he would deduce that she was mentally ill and insist she seek help from St. Mungo's immediately.

When his stomach lurched and growled violently, he decided to go to breakfast, and hopefully the little bitch known as Gregarson would either not be there or she would be too offended by his letter to acknowledge his existence. As far as he was concerned, she was nothing to him, and hopefully, she would feel that way as well.

He supposed that her grabbing his crotch and rubbing him while he was drunk and she was sober wasn't the worst thing that could have happened. Perhaps he was childish for feeling violated. And perhaps he had done far worse things during his stint as a Death Eater. But the fact was, he did feel violated, and he shuddered to think what would have happened had a male done that to a female.

At the moment though, there was someone he wanted to avoid even more than Gregarson, and her name was Hermione Granger. He had made a complete fool of himself, draping himself on her, whining about the injustice of having bad genes and how he envied pretty people. However, what he regretted the most was having kissed her. What she must think of him now. She probably went and told her precious saint friend Potter, and he most likely went directly to McGonagall, and within the hour the headmistress would corner him, and for the rest of his life he would be branded as the lecherous professor who came on to one of his students.

And he was the one complaining about being violated. Miss Granger must have felt much worse. How would she look him in the eyes after last night?

And how was he going to ignore the feelings he had for her now?

No, that was a stupid thing to think. He didn't have feelings for her. It was simply the alcohol. Never mind the fact he was anxiously waiting for her for hours long before he was drunk.

He burst into the Great Hall in a dramatic fashion, the doors banging louder than he had intended to, while he stalked towards his seat, growling angrily. How could he have been such a fool? Why on earth had he decided to kiss her? The entire wizarding world was just begging for an excuse to throw him into Azkaban, and what had he done? Violated a student!

"Feeling a bit melodramatic today, Severus?" McGonagall asked as he walked past her on his way to his chair.

He figured a simple glare in her direction was suffice. All she did was sigh and shake her head before returning to her breakfast.

Thank God for the hangover potion he'd had before coming down here, because otherwise, having eggs for breakfast would have been a horrible mistake.

It wasn't until he had poured himself a cup of coffee that he realized The Abomination was sitting beside him. "I got your letter, Severus," she said in a clipped tone.

"Ever so interesting, Gregarson, but seeing as I wrote it, I am fully aware of what it says, so let's skip past this commentary, shall we?"

"How dare you insinuate that I would violate you? You make me sound like some sort of date rapist," she whispered harshly.

"I think we both know that had I been female and you male, then there would be no dispute on whether or not what you did was wrong."

"But you aren't a girl and I'm not a boy, and you clearly wanted it, since you even told me you were thinking about snogging me and had I not interrupted, shagging me, so don't be all innocent, pal," she spat quietly.

Severus nearly dumped his coffee all over himself when she reminded him of that moment. Forget kissing Miss Granger--he'd been planning on imagining shagging her! Alcohol was clearly an abomination as well. "I never said I was imagining doing it with you, did I, you presumptuous cow."

"Okay, so maybe I overstepped my bounds 'cause you were drunk, whatever, but it wasn't my intention, okay? I'm sorry, but really, this martyr act is not becoming on you," she muttered, folding her arms over her chest.

"Martyr act? If you are so interested in seeing one, perhaps you should spend more time with the Potter boy."

"I actually find him rather sweet, don't you?"

"About as much as I find you fascinating, Gregarson," he murmured in a low voice.

She furrowed her eyebrows. "Your attitude is uncalled for."

"You've read my letter, and therefore, we have nothing to talk about. End of discussion."

"What, just because you say so? I don't think so."

He leaned closer to her, and he must have been giving her quite a nasty look, because she cowered slightly. "Shut. Your. Mouth," he growled quietly and she withdrew a bit.

Gregarson's eyes widened and her jaw trembled slightly. She blinked a few times and turned back to her breakfast with her head bowed. Hopefully it would stay that way.

Severus turned back to his breakfast, and almost habitually looked over at the Gryffindor table. Miss Granger wasn't there, and he wasn't sure he was glad of it or frustrated, but seeing as it was quite early, he wasn't all that surprised.

Until he glanced over at the Slytherin table.

He nearly spilled his coffee in his lap when he saw Miss Granger sitting beside Draco. They were both bent over a book, with the rest of the Slytherins on the table sat several feet from them, glaring. Being Draco's head of house, and also being close with the boy in general, he was aware of the fact he was failing History of Magic and of the charming deal McGonagall had made with him, so he realized she was probably only helping him with his essay, however he couldn't deny he found himself wondering if perhaps they liked each other, and as much as he wished he could deny it, the thought irritated him.

After he watched them for a few moments, Severus got out of his seat and headed towards them. He could feel eyes watching him as he moved, he could feel their stares burning on him, but when he looked around, he noticed that only the Abomination was looking at him. It was just paranoia--why was he paranoid about going over to Miss Granger? That was obvious--he felt guilty over what had happened the night before. But nobody here could know about it--unless Miss Granger had told someone that he'd made an advance.

He put his hand on Miss Granger's shoulder to announce his presence, but only briefly. When she turned her head to look up at him, he put his hand back to his side. She smiled pleasantly at him. "Good morning, Professor."

"Miss Granger," he said in greeting. He looked down both ends of the Slytherin table to see that this time, people actually were staring at him. "May I speak with you in private, about your apprenticeship?"

Her smiling face faltered. "Er . . . Yes, of course." She turned back to Draco, who was looking between them curiously. "I'll be back in a moment."

He swept out of the Great Hall and he glanced back to see she was following him, brown eyes on the floor and her head bowed shamefully. What on earth could she possibly be ashamed about?

He took her to the first empty classroom he could find, and he closed the door soundly behind him. Miss Granger looked around the dark classroom and he noticed she looked a bit uncomfortable with the situation. Of course she would--he had harassed her the night before, she probably thought he was going to try again. How could he have been so stupid? Damn alcohol!

"I'm sorry, Professor."

Well, that certainly caught him off-guard. "Beg pardon?"

"For . . . Last night. I kissed you, outside of the Hog's Head."

He thoguth for a moment, then he remembered her kissing him, and calling him . . . beautiful. It was a fuzzy memory, but there just the same. "Yes. Right."

"But I did it because you were being difficult, and I didn't want you to think that I disliked you! I was trying to get you to come with me. You thought that I was upset because you were, well, unattractive--but you're not sir, that's just what you said--and insinuated that had Gilderoy Lockhart kissed me in return, I would have--"

"My memory of that particular incident is clear; I do not need a commentary of it," he snapped, feeling his cheeks burn, but refusing to acknowledge the fact he was blushing. She shut her mouth and stood there, her chin jutted out in a resolute way. "Miss Granger, my . . . advances . . . towards you were uncalled for. I will understand completely if you wish to withdraw from your apprenticeship."

"What? No! Of course not! I would never, sir. I enjoy my apprenticeship." He raised an eyebrow at her outburst, then she lowered her head slightly. "You were drunk, sir. I'm not an idiot."

"Anything that I . . . did . . . Was caused by my inebriation, understood? I would never take advantage of you."

"Of course not ,sir. It was only a kiss, and a drunken one at that. You did not force yourself on me, sir. You're not that horrid Gregarson," she growled, folding her arms across her chest.

Severus nearly chuckled at her reaction, but he stopped himself just in time. However, he did smile at her. "Yes, well, that situation has been taken care of." She smiled at him, and he noticed that her bangs fell in front of her eyes. He had a ridiculous urge to brush her bangs out of her face, but he resisted. That would not help his case any. "You are not angry with me?"

"Of course not. You were drunk. I only pulled away because of that," she said wit ha small shrug, then her face paled when she realized what she had just implied--that she wouldn't have had he been sober.

She had as much last night, after he accused her of thinking him vile, but now it felt strange. She looked like she wanted to bolt out of the room. Her brown eyes were wide and her mouth was open slightly. Her eyes flicked over to the door. Oddly, his first reaction was to brush her infernal hair from her eyes and tell her it was all right and that he didn't mind.

Instead, he repressed his urge and nodded once. "We will never speak of last night again, understood?"

"Yes. Of course. Never again," she said quickly with a nod, forcing her bangs in front of her eyes even more so, and only bringing more of his attention to it.

"Very well. I shall see you tomorrow," he told her, not looking at her eyes but at the offensive piece of hair.

She nodded again.

"For goodness' sake," he grumbled, then reached forward, brushing the bang away from her eyes, unable to resist any longer. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"I don't notice, actually," she muttered, and he realized that his fingertips were still on her cheek. He ran his fingers along her cheek, repeating the gesture, as if brushing her hair away form her eyes again although he wasn't.

She was actually quite pretty.

He did it a third time, slower, feeling her skin on the tips of his fingers, the running his knuckles down the side of her face. She didn't' pull away form him. She must be the only woman in existence who wouldn't jerk away from the Albus Dumbledore's murderer. Correction--the only woman who wasn't a complete imbecile.

She leaned into the palm of his hand, and he felt an ache in his chest area, an ache he hadn't felt for a long time.

He lowered his hand from her face and cleared his throat, stepping away from her. He opened his mouth to say something, but he realized that he couldn't think of anything, and so he just turned away and swept out of the classroom.

* * *

A/N--there is a "wonderful" thing called Real Life that has prevented me from updating as much as I would have liked. Thank you for sticking with me as long as you have, and also, special thanks to SnapeLuna for expressing as much interest as you did, and asking after my health.

June 5th was my brother's birthday, as well as Draco Malfoy's. My brother is now sixteen and Draco is twenty eight. Happy birthday!


	15. Realization

**Chapter 15: Realization**

Hermione slung her book bag over her shoulder and started over to the portrait, but before she could get there, Ron stepped in front of her with a huge grin on his face. "Hi, Hermione," he greeted, and she saw that his ears were tinted pink.

She shifted uncomfortably. "Ron," she greeted in return, forcing a smile.

"Off to Snape's then?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes, actually, that's where I'm going. So I'll, uh . . . see you later . . ."

"You're not wearing your necklace," he pointed out, and Hermione nearly cringed. She had been hoping he wouldn't notice that.

"Yes . . . Ah, about that, um . . . I took it off." That was a bit of a lie, seeing as Snape had taken it off on Saturday. She wondered just how long he had noticed its absence and why he had taken so long to call attention to it, because she knew he'd noticed awhile ago.

Ron nodded and she saw his smile falter considerably. "Oh. Right. So, um . . . You want me to walk you there? 'Cause I can."

"Well, um . . ." She wanted to tell him she could do it herself, but she knew that he would take offence to it, more so than usual. After he had kissed her on Saturday, she wondered if he thought that meant they were together in the romantic sense. So that meant him walking her to Snape's was more of a date than anything, and she knew she would hurt his feelings if she declined and she really didn't want to get into a row with him and chance being late, or going to Snape in a bad mood. "Okay," she conceded, hoping that her tone didn't reveal what she really felt about the situation.

His grin returned full force. "All right, let's go then."

They walked down to Snape's office. Hermione had to keep telling Ron to walk faster, because he wanted to amble slowly through the corridors, which would have been fine if not for the fact if she was even one minute late Professor Snape would terminate her apprenticeship. Ron's arm kept bumping into hers while they walked briskly through the school, and Hermione tried to ignore it but couldn't. Nor could she ignore the fact he kept slyly mentioning Hogsmeade which she knew meant he was trying to get her to bring up the kiss they had shared which had been more of him awkwardly bumping his mouth against hers and Hermione would rather forget it ever happened.

Finally they made it to Snape's classroom and before Ron could somehow delay her, she knocked on Snape's door firmer than she usually did.

"Come in," he called from inside. Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. That had sounded nearly friendly coming from Snape, who normally told her to enter, not come in.

"Right, so I suppose that's you, then," Ron mumbled and kicked the ground idly. He seemed disappointed. Hermione wasn't sure if it was an act or not, or if it was because she was leaving or because she hadn't held his hand or something else.

"It is, yes," she said, reaching for the handle.

Ron grabbed her wrist and stood in front of her a little bit. She noticed his eyes were looking at anything except her face--they were flitting around the hall or looking at her hairline. "So, er . . . About Saturday, you know, at Hogsmeade . . ."

Hermione really did not want to discuss this. She had figured that if she didn't fall into his conversation trap on the way down here he wouldn't push it. Not only was it extremely awkward, but she really needed to get inside the classroom. "What about it?" she asked nonchalantly, although she noticed her voice took a higher pitch than normal.

"Well, I just thought that . . . You know, maybe . . ."

"Come in," she heard Snape call louder from inside the classroom.

"Ron, I really need to--"

His mouth was on hers. Because she had been in the middle of talking, it felt really awkward and her lips were parted, so his lips were pressed against her teeth. She was so shocked she couldn't move.

The door jerked open suddenly. "I said for you to--" Snape began, but then cut off just as soon as Ron leapt away from Hermione, and although Hermione was glad that Ron had stopped kissing her, when she saw the look on Snape's face, she wasn't in the least bit glad of anything.

* * *

Severus had told her to come in and she hadn't. He knew who it was, somehow, he just knew it was Miss Granger. As soon as he'd heard her knock, he had smiled. Yes, smiled. It had only been for a brief second, but it had happened. He didn't want to think about it.

So when she didn't walk in he became annoyed, and had went over there and jerked open the door, wondering what on earth was taking her so long to turn a doorknob. And that was when he saw Weasley kissing her.

As soon as the ginger bastard had leapt away from her, he'd seen Hermione stunned face, and he could tell she hadn't really wanted to be kissed. However, that didn't stop the sharp stabbing sensation he felt in his chest and the burning anger erupt into flames in his stomach. He wanted to go over and grab the boy by his shoulders and do unspeakable violent acts against his dunderheaded freckled face.

Since attacking students was expressly forbidden, he settled with shouting; "Twenty points from Gryffindor for your lewd behaviour!" He grabbed Miss Granger by the elbow and led her, perhaps a bit roughly, into his classroom and shut the door. A second alter, he realized that twenty points wasn't nearly enough punishment for making him feel like murdering the bastard, so he opened it again and added to the retreated red-head; "And detention with Filch tomorrow!"

He slammed the door a second time and stormed over to his desk, trying his hardest to ignore Miss Granger, who was standing by her desk, wringing her hands. He sat down in his chair, trying his hardest to ignore the fact he wanted to throw something across the room. He couldn't ignore it, however, just like he couldn't ignore the fact his chest ached and he could hear his heart pounding, nor the fact an icy sense of anger was now replacing the fiery vengeance in his gut.

Severus Snape was jealous.

"Professor," she ventured weakly, and he glared at her. His glare must have been spectacular indeed, because she quickly sat down. She opened her bag and rummaged around it and pulled out a quill, leaving it open most likely in case she needed to pull something else out.

He opened his mouth to speak, but found that he had completely forgotten what his lesson for her was, and so he shut it again.

"He kissed me, sir, in mid-sentence," she blurted.

"Did I ask?" he spat, trying to recall just what he had assigned.

"No," she mumbled, then looked away from him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"It's none of my business if you intend to date the boy," he said acidly, snarling at the unbidden image of them kissing, but this time in his head, she was reciprocating. It made him sick. "However, I would appreciate it if you did not display your teenage affections in front of my door!"

"I don't want to date him!" she exclaimed.

"Watch . . . your . . . tone," he growled through clenched teeth. They stared at each other, but seeing as his glares were far superior to hers, she quickly looked away. "And if you do not wish to date him, perhaps you should not lead him into thinking you do, and finally gather up your Gryffindor courage enough to tell him to bugger off."

"It's not as simple as that," she told him quietly, folding her arms.

"Yes, Miss Granger, it is that simple. Two words, three syllable. Bugger off." He stood up, having finally remembered what the lesson was when he saw the cauldron he'd left out on her table. "It is far crueller to let him believe as he wishes simply to make life simpler for you. In case you haven't noticed, silence is consent, and unless your tell him how you feel, you will only do more harm than good."

She finally looked at him, and it was she had somehow physically done something to him. His heart missed a beat and it felt like he had missed a step going downstairs. Her eyes met his, and somehow, everything stopped, and for a second, all of his anger was gone.

He shoved the moment away, forced his eyes away from hers, and stood in front of the cauldron. "I know," she mumbled as she stood up, standing beside him, in front of the cauldron. She was too close. He felt claustrophobic, although in a good way (if at all possible) which actually meant it was worse for him, so he took a large step to the side, so as to put more distance between them. He didn't even try to hide his reaction. Why should he? He shouldn't feel ashamed to want to step away from her. Why should he care if it hurt her feelings?

"I would rather be turned down than find out someone never had feelings for me in the first place, and just tolerated me," he mumbled, getting lost into thoughts. And, not for the first time in his life, he found himself telling Miss Granger something he really shouldn't have. "Lily and I dated," he stated.

"What?"

"Only briefly," he added, looking away from her and starting the fire underneath the cauldron. "She had no interest in me, but I . . . did." He didn't need to expound on how much he had loved Lily. "I found that she had had no intention of dating me at all, and was too kind to tell me otherwise. I had overheard her talking to a friend of hers. I was hurt, and I . . . reacted improperly to the news."

He barely glanced at her and he saw the knowing look in her eyes--he didn't need to tell her that the charming word he had said to Lily Evans had been somewhat of a reaction to finding out she had only dated him because she was too nice to tell him she didn't have feelings for him.

Why was he telling Miss Granger that? He had told her things he hadn't told anybody else. He had only had her in his extra lesson for two months, and he was already pouring his soul out to her? He supposed, in a way, it made sense. He had spent years as a spy, having to keep everything bottled up, and now that he was free, perhaps he was finding an excuse to let it all out. That's what he told himself, anyway. It wasn't like anybody really bothered to listen to him anyway. In fact, most people avoided him. But Miss Granger, unlike the others, actually listened to him. She actually wanted to hear what he had to say. She actually _liked_ him. He could pretend that it was all of those things as much as he wanted--and granted, logically, it did make sense--but he knew the truth.

He liked her.

He _liked_ her.

Severus did not go about mentioning his brief relationship with Lily. He certainly did not open up to insufferable know-it-alls on a daily basis. But he had been telling her things about his life that he hadn't spoken about or even thought about for years. Yet here he was, telling her, and as much as he told himself it was just an excuse to stop bottling everything because the war was over and she was the only one who cared to listen, after the explosive jealousy he'd felt at seeing Weasley kissing her, he couldn't lie anymore. He liked her.

He had never really paid much attention to her. In fact, she often annoyed him. He had to admit that he was glad someone in his glasses actually had half a brain cell, but apart from that, he'd felt nothing but irritation up until recently when it came to her. But she listened to him, and he spoke with her, and she wasn't nearly as irritating as he had once thought.

She didn't say anything. She didn't tell him that she was sorry, and she didn't try to make Lily out as a bad person, as some would have. She didn't analyze the situation or tell him he ad no right to call her that word, despite the fact he had been deeply in love with her and had though for a short period of time that she reciprocated those feeling only to have his heart ripped out because of her "kindness" because he knew, even more that she did, that what he had done was wrong. Instead, she just remained silent.

"Do you have feelings for him?" he asked slowly.

She shook her head. "No."

"Then tell him. Trying to spare his feelings is not being kind, and I think you know as well as I that it is not to spare his pain, but to spare your own. It is for your own benefit. You are being exceedingly selfish, and that is the last thing that you are, Miss Granger."

She nodded, and he waited for her to explain herself, or try to disprove him, or anything. She didn't, though. She just nodded and bowed her head, looking very ashamed.

Severus went on to explain the potion they were brewing, explaining the purpose of each ingredient. She watched him with intent eyes, taking in everything he said. He tried to refrain from looking at her as much as possible, seeing as he could not deny he had slight feelings for her now. He would not call attention to it, though, and if he refrained for touching her or looking at her, then he could quash them and forget them as easily as one forgot anything else.

Although the potion was going well and they spoke of nothing but the lesson, he felt disoriented. His mind kept going back to how she had looked with Weasley's mouth against hers, and how every time their eyes met accidentally, it felt like an electrical charge went through him. Judging by the way she spoke, she wasn't completely focused either, but he had no idea why she would be out of it. After all, she wasn't the one who had just realized her feelings for someone half her age.

Perhaps it was because of his disoriented state he didn't realize she picked up the wrong ingredient. Thankfully, he realized before she threw it into the cauldron and he grabbed her wrist. "Did you not hear me?" he spat, jerking her hand away while still holding her wrist. "I said crushed beetles were next; have you gone deaf? Adding this too now would have rendered this potion utterly useless!"

"Sorry, sir," she stammered quickly. "I, er . . .got lost in thought."

"That is no excuse. If you cannot focus properly, then perhaps you should not have come," he snarled. He conveniently forgot to mention that he hadn't been paying much attention either, and if he had been, her hand wouldn't have gotten near the wrong ingredient.

It was then he noticed that in his attempt to pull her hand away, he had stepped closer to her, and turned her body so that they were standing in front of the other. Her eyes were large and staring right into his, her apologetic face melting into one that looked contemplative.

He could feel her pulse from her wrist, and he could feel her breath on his chin. He knew that he shouldn't be holding onto her wrist anymore. He knew that he should have let go and stepped away from her. He knew he should have done anything except keep holding her wrist and staring at her face.

Unwillingly, he stepped closer, so that he had to tilt his head down to continue looking at her face, and she had to tilt her face up to continue looking at him. He remembered brushing her hair from her face, and he remembered kissing her whilst drunk and how it had stirred something within him (besides the stomach acid mixing with vomit) and how she had kissed him back. He remembered the time she'd needed help putting on her necklace that she didn't even really like, and how close they'd stood then.

Her mouth was close. If he wanted, he could leaned forward and capture her lips with his, and sod the potion, and sod the rules, too. He would be kissing a student, and he wouldn't care.

Reality came rushing back to him when he realized that he was toying with the idea of kissing a student sober--one that would probably run screaming to McGonagall and get him fired, as well she should.

He yanked his hand away form her wrist and stumbled back. "Get out," he sneered, angry at himself for wanting to kiss her, and angry at her for being the one he wanted to kiss. He had spent years being able to think under pressure and knowing exactly how to act in every situation. He was no about to become impulsive now and lose the job he only had because McGonagall couldn't legally turn him away. He was not about to give her a reason to hate him even more so. He was already a murderer--he was not about to become a lecher as well.

"What?" she asked, blinking a few times like being torn out of a reverie.

"Get out," he repeated more harshly.

"I'm sorry, I'll do better," she said quickly, grabbing the crushed beetles and throwing them into the potion.

"I told you to get out!" he spat angrily.

She jumped at his sudden loudness and scurried away, grabbing her open bag, either ignoring or not noticing the fact several parchments fell out of her bag and floated to the floor. The door shut soundly behind her, leaving him alone with the bubbling potion.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. He could no longer stand beside Miss Granger--at all. He could no longer touch her in any way. When they brewed, he would stand on the opposite side of the table, and he would have to pay extra attention just in case she did grab the wrong ingredient so he wouldn't have to resort to grabbing her.

He waved his wand, so the potion disappeared from the cauldron, and he muttered a quick cleaning spell. With a sigh, he bent over and picked up the parchments.

Two of them were blank, but one of them had writing on it. He glanced over it, confused at what he saw there.

Why would Miss Granger have a parchment solely devoted to him?

* * *

Hermione walked into the common room and sighed. As much as she wanted to pretend he'd gotten angry because she had messed up the potion, which he _had_ gotten angry, she couldn't deny that he had been looking at her quite oddly for a moment there. Hermione wasn't stupid--in fact, she was quite the opposite--and she had noticed Snape looking at her mouth _several_ times. It had been an odd lesson to begin with--him catching Ron kissing her was only the start. He had told her about Lily, something she was certain he didn't do with everyone he met.

And if she wasn't mistaken, he had been going to kiss her.

She couldn't pretend he hadn't stepped forward and stared at her. She'd been staring at his eyes, so she couldn't tell herself that his eyes hadn't been flicking from her eyes to her mouth.

The oddest thing of all was that she had wanted him to kiss her. In fact, she had been contemplating making the first move, despite the fact that he was her professor and twice her age.

She couldn't lie anymore about what she felt towards Snape. She had feelings for him--feelings she should have had for Ron, but didn't. And it appeared that Snape might return the feelings . . . She wasn't' stupid. She knew why he'd yelled at her to get out, and it wasn't because of the potion. What was she supposed to do with that knowledge? What did that mean for the two of them?

"Hermione? You're back early," Harry pointed out from across the room. He was busy playing chess with Ron.

"I, er . . . sort of ruined the potion," she lied.

Harry frowned. "Bad luck, Hermione. Suppose you can't get them all. He hasn't chucked you, has he?"

"Chucked? What?" she repeated nervously, automatically thinking of being broken up with. Did Harry suspect something? But they weren't even going out!

She saw him narrow his green eyes and she thought he looked suspicious. "From your apprenticeship," eh said slowly, fixing his glasses on his nose.

"Oh, right. No, no, he just . . . excused me for today . . ."

Harry nodded. "Good. That's good."

Ron muttered something to Harry that Hermione couldn't hear. Harry nodded, then Ron stood up from his chair and came over to Hermione. She really didn't want to deal with him at the moment--not since she couldn't get Snape's expression out of her mind--the one that he'd had when he'd seen them kissing. It was like she had smacked him across the face.

"Hey, Hermione," he greeted, smiling nervously. "Bit embarrassing earlier, huh, with Snape?"

Hermione sighed, then reached forward and put her hand on his shoulder. "Look, Ron . . . We need to have a talk."

Judging by Ron's expression, he knew just what she meant.

* * *

A/N--I know it's been awhile, and I'm sorry. My birthday was July 23rd, as well as DanRad, but who cares about him, right? I will be expecting presents.

Now, I want you to know that I am NOT abandoning this story, nor am I planning on abandoning any of them. However, I currently have several Harry Potter multi-chapter stories I am working on, not to mention a Doctor Who series with 13 installments. That's not including Real Life problems I am currently having to sort out.


	16. Confrontations

Chapter Sixteen: Confrontations

Meredith had promised herself she would stop.

She promised herself that she wouldn't do it anymore. Now that she was a professor, she had to be a good example. She wasn't a bad teacher, she knew that--in fact, she knew she was actually one of the better ones--but that didn't mean she was a good person. Beautiful, intelligent, charming, flirtatious, and talented, perhaps, but a good person? She doubted it. The last time she felt that she was a decent human being had been so long ago, she couldn't even remember what it had felt like. Had she even been aware of the fact she was a decent person? Did people know they were good? Or did they only realize that they were horrible, and reminisce about a time when they hadn't been?

She could remember when she was a good person. She had been dating Peter Pettigrew. Her chest ached when she remembered just how much she had loved him. He had been awkward and shy, but once she'd gotten to know him, he could talk for hours and hours. He had been so much like a child--so full of life, so zealous, so appreciative of everything around him . . . And she had been that way once, too.

It hadn't surprised anyone when she made the first move. She asked _him_ out. Being in the same year and house, she had known who he was. He was friends with Sirius Black and James Potter--of course she knew who Peter was. One day, when Remus had been sick (something he often was, she remembered) Peter hadn't had anyone to pair himself with for Potions. Seeing as she was either going to be paired up with Severus or him, she chose Peter. She hadn't minded being paired with Severus because he tended to do all of the work and let her doodle on parchment, but he was often snappish towards her and she hated people snapping at her. After that, Peter often chose to be paired with her instead of Remus, and Remus (who she remembered being too kind for his own good) ended up being paired with Severus instead, much to his chagrin.

And everything had gone splendidly. She had dated before, but they had been shallow, cute relationship that lasted a week at best. But with Peter, she could truly be herself. They dated months, and nobody understood why Meredith Susan Gregarson, the beautiful, rich, intelligent girl, would be seen publicly with the awkward and plump Peter Pettigrew. But they didn't understand--the freedom to say what she wanted, to truly be herself--whoever that had been so long ago--around someone who didn't care. Who never judged.

She remembered how jealous Sirius had been. Not because he actually liked her, but because he was the type girls usually went for. Nobody went for Peter. She figured he'd seen it as a bash to his masculinity, and saw to it to try and woo her. Peter had always been jealous of his friends, and when he noticed Sirius swooping in on her, he'd gotten possessive. Meredith hadn't minded, of course. She liked it that he was clingy.

So she had decided to give herself to him, fully. She became a woman at the age of sixteen, halfway through her sixth year, after dating Peter for eight months. She had been so happy. It was her decision, and even to this day she didn't regret it. And everything had been great, for awhile. For a month, they had explored their new sexuality.

But when Sirius couldn't take it anymore, he lashed out at Peter. Meredith never found out what they'd said to each other, but the next thing she knew, Peter changed. Peter became annoyed easily, and at the drop of a hat, him and Sirius were at each other like hounds. James would always pick Sirius' side, naturally, and Remus refused to get involved, and that left her with a picked on, upset, and hurt Peter, who would lash out at her and get into unnecessary arguments simply because he couldn't get his frustrations out on Sirius.

And suddenly, it ended. Peter broke up with her, saying that she was causing too much trouble. That he cared about her, and maybe they could try again someday. Meredith had been heartbroken. Even Lily, who she had never really gotten along with, had tried to comfort her. And the moment Meredith changed--the moment Meredith went from a good girl to the despicable human being she was now--was when she slept with Sirius to get back at peter.

She'd been so hurt. She wanted to pay Peter back, and she knew sleeping with Sirius would do the trick. And Sirius had been damn good. Meredith thought she had enjoyed sex with peter, it had never been horrible by any means--maybe awkward and tentative--but never horrible. But Sirius could do things that made her scream so much her throat went sore. And Sirius liked to kiss and tell.

But she was nothing to him. She was just proof that he still had it--that he could still bag the pretty ones.

But she never cared him, so she didn't care when he kicked her aside for the next pretty thing that came along.

And she moved onto the next guy, never content in being alone--never content in letter Peter forget what he'd left behind, and he moved onto to some odd affair with Bellatrix Lestrange, and the only reason she knew about that was because she'd found them shagging in a broom closet, despite Bellatrix being far older than them. After being threatened by the dark-haired beauty, Meredith promised not to say a word of their tryst. It wasn't because of fear of death that she'd obliged, but because she felt ashamed she driven Peter into the bitch's arms.

Getting back at Peter stopped being her motive long ago, but she never stopped finding comfort in strangers' arms. She just needed it. She didn't know what the appeal was, she just needed to have someone inside her--complete her--make her feel like she was worth something.

She told herself she would stop. And she had. When she'd been accepted as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, she knew she could do it. Her life was finally falling into place. She told herself that now she was a role model, someone people could look up to, and she could stop.

Severus had just been luck. Meredith had never joined in her peers' hatred of Severus. She had always pitied him. She never told him that, of course, because she wasn't an idiot, and she knew that he would despise her for pitying him. She had never liked what Lily had done to him--she knew Lily didn't feel for Severus, and it angered Meredith knowing that Lily led him on just because she didn't want to brush him off and hurt his feelings.

But they were adults now, and Severus was a hero in her eyes, and he was the type of man who could change her--the type of man who could make her feel as she had with Peter. Severus was the type of man who didn't care what others thought of him, and she knew that she would be able to be herself in front of him. She didn't know who that was anymore, but she knew he could get it out of her.

He was such a confusing man! He wrote her beautiful letters, and he obviously wanted to be with her. No one wrote letters like that unless he wanted her. He would be callous and cruel, but she figured that was just Snape, and she didn't mind it. He wasn't' the most attractive man, but Peter hadn't been either.

She honestly hadn't understood that Severus would have taken offence to her advances on him, even though he was drunk. She had been taken advantage of when drunk thousands of times--she hadn't cared. And by the way he acted towards her in the letters, she had assumed he would have reciprocated.

But she knew now he was a tease. He was a tease who led her on and shoved her away, as some sort of sick game--some sort of way at getting back at Sirius Black, she imagined.

And when she realized that, when she realized he had done nothing but toy with her, and had called her a lecher, and accused her of sexual harassment, she couldn't take it anymore. She would never find a good man--people like her didn't.

And Tuesday morning found her rolling out of bed, with some drunk stranger beside her. She knew by the time she returned from teaching classes he would return to Godric's Hollow, where she had picked him up. She knew that it meant nothing to him, and it meant nothing to her, and so she hadn't even tried to learn his name.

Falling back into intercourse with men she didn't know had been so easy. She hated herself for it, and as she was doing it, him ploughing into her, she'd had tears running down her face. It wasn't rape--but she wished that it had been.

She tried not to look at herself in the mirror. It was such a shame--she knew she was beautiful, she wasn't stupid, but she couldn't bear to look at herself anymore.

She ignored Severus at breakfast, and he ignored her. She found herself angry with him. She hated him. She blamed him for making her have sex with whatever-his-name was, even though she knew it was her fault and not his.

Classes passed her by like a dream. They were nothing to her--just seamless images. She loved for teaching. Nothing made her happier than when one of her students suddenly understood, and she knew it was because of her. But today, it didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered, and all she wanted to do was go into London, get drunk, and have sex, just so she could feel again.

"No," she whispered to herself after the last student left her class. The kid hadn't understood something and had stayed after, and when she explained it to him and his eyes lit up, it hadn't done anything. Her heart remained in her chest, pounding slowly, and she knew that it wasn't good.

She couldn't let Severus get to her.

She wasn't going to be a bad teacher. Kids had to look up to her, and she wasn't going to let them suffer for her selfishness. She was already a procrastinator. It had taken threats from Draco Malfoy in order for her to start checking the gifts sent to the young Gryffindors she was the head of. She wasn't a good person.

But by God she was going to change.

Shoving the essays aside, she stormed to Severus' classroom, where she knew he still was. This was his fault--all his fault--and maybe yelling at him wouldn't do anything, but it was a good place to start.

She burst into his classroom, cringing when he habitually raised his wand. "Sorry," she gritted throug hher teeth, backtracked, slammed the door shut, and knocked three times.

"Enter," came his cold voice.

She burst in again, slamming it shut behind her. "Listen to me," she snapped. He raised an eyebrow at her. "I don't care what you think, Severus, but this is half your fault!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What happened on Saturday, obviously!" she shouted, tossing her soft, golden curls aside.

"This discussion is over. Get out."

She pounded up to his desk and put her hands on her hips. "No, it isn't. You're not the end-all be-all, Severus. You are _not_ God."

"Seeing as I'm an Atheist, I tend to agree."

"Stop it," she growled, glancing down at the parchment he held in his hands. It looked to be a list of some type. She ignored it, then stared into his black eyes. "This isn't funny. Okay, I admit, maybe I was a little forward, but you can't blame me! I hate you men sometimes! Calling us women teases, but oh, the second one of us enjoys sex, we're trollops! You're a tease, Severus!"

"I never _once_ gave you _any_ inclination I wanted anything more than a professional relationship with you, Gregarson."

"Bullocks. I've read your letters. Nobody writes like that unless they're interested."

"Like what? Gregarson, I often commented on the fact you were entirely different in person than in your letters, and how it irked me. It is not my fault you are too thick to tell the difference between disdain and flirtation." Although he was speaking to her, he was reading over the list in his hands, as if that could somehow be more interesting than her.

She let out a bark of laughter. "Disdain? Oh, please! You told me how beautiful I was. You told me you dreamt of me. You wrote poetry, for God's sake!"

His head snapped up, his cold eyes meeting hers. "What?"

"Let's see, how did it go? 'Your eyes like sapphire and lips of ruby red--'"

"I wrote no such thing," he interrupted, raising a hand to silence her.

"Don't play coy with me, Severus, I know damn well--"

"No, you don't understand, I really wrote no such thing."

She opened her mouth to insist that yes, he had, when she noticed his look of confusion. Suddenly, she felt herself getting confused, too. "No . . . I have the letter. I kept all of your letters. And--and there's no way you didn't know, because I _referred_ to them in the letters I wrote back!"

"No, you didn't."

"Quit toying with me."

"I am not. You never referred to any poetry I wrote you, because I never wrote you poetry."

She furrowed her eyebrows. "No, I--I remember writing about it."

"I have the letters with me, Gregarson. I can prove you are mistaken." He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a pile of parchment. He handed it to her. "There is everything you ever wrote to me. I admit, I rather liked how you were in the letters--you understand how it frustrated me that in person, you are insipid when clearly you have the ability to be otherwise."

She skimmed through the letter on the top, then started flipping through the letters, reading over the words. "This isn't my handwriting. It's my signature, but it's not my . . . handwriting." Their eyes met again and she felt a sinking sensation in her stomach--something similar to nausea. "Severus, I didn't write any of these."

He took the letters from her and frowned. He placed all of them but one in the drawer. The one he remained holding was a poem. He held it beside the list he was holding in his hand, and his eyes kept drifting between them, and with each passing second, a frown line between his eyes became more pronounced.

"Have you . . ." His voice cracked, and she felt a stab in her chest. All of those wonderful things he'd said about her was fake. He really hadn't been leading her on. She really had made unwanted advances. Now his voice was cracking, and she felt like she was going to die. Severus' voice did not crack. Severus did not show emotion, unless that emotion was anger or cold indifference. Or some combination of both. "Have you ever seen Miss Granger's cursive?"

"No," she answered, not really understanding what was going on, and hoping to God the man she'd slept with last night wasn't still in her bed waiting for her.

He closed his eyes tightly, then slowly returned the poem into his drawer. His chest was steadily rising and falling, and she got the picture that he was piecing something together she wasn't understanding at all. "Gregarson . . . I'm going to need you to bring all the letters you received from me."

She blinked a few times. "Why? Severus, there are more important--"

"Just do it."

She turned on her heel and started to leave the classroom. When she glanced over her shoulder to ask him what the matter was, she saw him pinching the bridge of his nose, and thought it best to leave without question.

* * *

Draco hated walking up to the Gryffindor tower. But he hated the Slytherin common room more. The people who had sought his attention and surrounded him for years now treated him like a walking disease--as if his touch could make them into the scum that he apparently was. He was the son of a Death Eater, locked in Azkaban for life, and the only reason he hadn't joined him was because of Severus. Severus, who had killed Dumbledore for him; Severus, who had put his life on the line to be a spy; Severus, who Draco had hated all of last year thinking just what everyone thought--that he was Dumbledore's murderer.

Draco had been so willing to join his father at the Dark Lord's side. It was a glamorous life, doing whatever he wanted and when he wanted. He hadn't thought something as simple as killing an old man would be hard. But it was--and once he saw that life for what it truly was, it had frightened him. It had disgusted him. Yes, mudbloods were filth and a disgrace to the wizarding world--but did they deserve death? Was it necessary to kill in order to reign? Why not just ignore them--surely that would effective?

And the life he once wanted, the life he had respected, he found himself hating. And he had thought Severus truly felt and thought the way Draco once had, and he hated him. And even though Draco spent all of last year, griping and being rude towards Severus, not knowing that everything Severus did was for his benefit. To save him. To save the world.

And what did Severus get in return? Hatred. Draco deserved it, he knew he did, but Severus did not, and Draco hated himself for putting Severus through it.

And Granger was right--every person Draco had treated like dirt, every person he had sought out to insult, felt just like Draco did now. And the fact that he had forced so many to feel as he did now made him . . . something. Guilty, perhaps? And for the rest of his life, people would only see him as a monster. He would have a disadvantage in everything he did and would have to work twice as hard to get it.

And the Slytherins hated him. Not because they disagreed with him, but because they had been lucky to get away unscathed. They still had their friends. He was a disease--a leper, and if anyone went near him, they would be associated with the horrid little boy that had a Dark Mark. Then they, too, would be discriminated against.

And the odd thing was, the people who should have hated him the most, seemed to hate him the least.

He hated going to Gryffindor Tower, because he knew he didn't belong, yet it was the only time he felt he did. He could deal with Weasley's dirty looks, he could ignore the whispers, and he could even sit beside the mudblood without feeling disgusted with himself.

But he would be damned if he was going to go there for no reason.

And he hated the fact he was happy when Severus told him to retrieve Miss Granger, and send her to his classroom immediately.

The fact Draco knew the Gryffindor password only proved how much had changed .Potter had given it to him, saying; "You know, just in case you have any, er . . . ideas you want to share with us. You know ,for Snape." Draco scoffed. He could read between the line. Potter might as well have said; "Just in case you feel lonely and want to talk to me about it." Stupid Gryffindor prat--noble to the end.

The door swung open, the Fat Lady scoffing and muttering something that Draco decided to ignore, and he stepped in. The Gryffindors all scowled and him and started whispering to their friends. Thankfully, the freckled ginger idiot known as Weasley wasn't around, but his sister was.

Potter was sitting beside Ginny Weasley, and they were whispering to each other, but the whispers were tender and caring, not directed at him, obviously. He brushed away her fiery red hair and kissed her lips, and Draco nearly vomited at the display. It was nearly as bad as that insipid romance novel Draco had read simply to pass the time--_An Open Page_ by Ember Rose. The main heroine had looked on to her recently married friends, Harold and Guinevere, who now that Draco thought about it, looked very similar to the two in front of him, and they had been necking and being tender towards each other. Draco hadn't like the novel, but mainly because anything that didn't have explosions and some sort of action in it bored him.

Potter looked in his direction and smiled, nodding at him in greeting, then returned to paying attention to his girlfriend, as if Draco walked into the common room every day.

He saw Granger working on an essay and sighed. Did the girl have anything that closely resembled a life? Sighing, eh walked over to her. "Granger," he greeted.

She looked up at him, appearing surprised. "Oh. Hello, Draco."

He winced. It didn't sound right, his name coming from her lips. "It's Malfoy," he spat.

"Right. Of course."

He shifted uncomfortably. She had helped him with his history essay. He knew he should thank her, but he would die before telling her that. So instead, he went on about the reason he was here. "Professor Snape wants to see you in his classroom."

Apparently she didn't think that was a good thing, because her face paled. "Oh. Er, did he say why?"

"No. But I'd suggest you hurry along, Granger. He didn't seem very happy."

She quickly turned her essay over and stood, brushing off her robes. Her hands were shaking. "Right. Of course. Thank you, Dra--Malfoy."

She quickly walked past him, and he snarled at her retreating form.

Although he knew he should leave, he sank into the couch with an ease that made him worry about his sanity. He folded his arms and stared at the fire, ignoring the whispers of the people around him. It was better here. Here, they might whisper, but it didn't bug him. He took an odd comfort in the fact he knew they had always hated him, they had always whispered and taunted him. It was far better than dealing with people who used to fawn over him. It wasn't a new hatred, but an old one.

He should have been surprised when Potter sat on the couch beside him--far enough so that it wouldn't be uncomfortable, but close enough for Draco to know they could talk. Ginny Weasley wasn't with him. That didn't surprise him, either.

"How is everything?" Potter asked.

"Fine. I was just supposed to tell Granger that Sev--er, Professor Snape wanted to see her."

He nodded, and his green eyes narrowed in thought. When their eyes met, somehow--and Draco didn't know how--some sort of knowledge passed between them. Somehow, Draco knew that Potter suspected the same thing Draco did.

"Hermione seems to be taking a liking to her apprenticeship. She, er . . . looks forward to it," Potter stated, and Draco heard the real question underneath--the real statement. The fact that Potter thought Granger had feelings for Snape.

Draco nodded slowly. "Severus enjoys teaching her."

And then, there was an understanding. Potter and Draco knew that the two of them liked each other, in a way more than a student and teacher should.

"I think it's very . . . _good_ for Hermione. The apprenticeship." _I think Severus is a good match for her, Draco._

"Yes, having an apprentice is very good for Severus, as well." _I agree, Potter. Granger is good for Severus._

Potter nodded and folded his arms. "The, er . . . matchmaking thing, I, er . . . don't wanna do it anymore."

"Neither do I."

Potter nodded. "But . . . If you ever get any ideas, you can still share them with me. You know, in case you change your mind." _You can still come up here._

Draco nodded. "I know."

"Listen, Draco . . ." He noticed the delicate stress on his name. He thought about correcting him, but decided against it. "If you show up to dinner, I am going to sit with you."

Draco knew what he was doing. He was giving Draco a chance to not show up for dinner. "I'm not opposed to that, Harry." There. He said it. It was the first time that name had come out of his mouth and it hadn't been followed by his surname.

Harry nodded. "Would you like to play chess?"

Draco smiled. "Yes. I would."

* * *

Hermione's day had not gone well at all.

Because she had finally gathered up the courage to tell Ron she didn't have feelings for him, Ron had decided to be an obnoxious prat all day towards her. Harry never told Ron to knock it off, but when he wasn't' around, he told Hermione that what she'd done was for the best. And although Ginny did manage a few words of comfort, they came off as cold and clipped. Even though Ginny told her she was glad that Hermione had finally told him what was up, she knew where her loyalties were at.

Hermione was afraid that because of her selfishness, she had lost a friend. But she knew what she did was right. She knew that it would have been more hurtful to keep her feelings bottled away and let Ron think that she returned his feelings when she didn't.

But most of all, she was confused about Snape. He told her things he would never tell anyone else. It was most unlike him, to open up to her, and she contented herself in saying that he only did it because she was willing to listen, and after spending years having to keep everything locked inside, he was looking for a reason to blurt it all out. She imagined he told himself that as well. But after last night, she knew she couldn't lie to herself anymore.

She fancied him, and he reciprocated the feeling.

But she highly doubted he was asking her to his classroom so they could discuss dinner plans. He'd been so angry with her when he'd nearly kissed her. She remembered how it had felt to have his finger on her wrist, and how his eyes kept going to her mouth. The fact he had nearly kissed his student must have disgusted him. He'd kicked her out, and she had given him the choice to pretend that it was over the potion--so they could forget the entire thing--and he had still insisted she leave. She couldn't help but worry that he was going to stop her apprenticeship.

When she stood in front of his door, she felt fear gnawing at her gut. She was an adult. She was nineteen years old. Even if he was twice her age, it wasn't illegal--Ginny had told her as such. But he was still her professor, and Hermione knew that Snape wouldn't see it that way. She didn't want him to shove her away. But at the same time, she didn't want to jeopardize anything for him--not when he was on the line and she knew people were looking for any excuse to hate him.

She knocked on the door.

"Enter."

She walked in, and was confused to see Gregarson in the class as well. She was standing on one side of his desk, and she looked absolutely furious. She was tapping her foot, and one hand rested delicately on her curvy hip. Her perfect hair bounced with each tap.

"Pull up a chair, Miss Granger," he ordered coldly. His voice was cutting; icy.

Her heart leapt into her throat against and start pounding there.

Shakily, she put a chair in front of his desk. Surely Snape would not embarrass her in front of Gregarson and call attention to the fact they fancied each other? Hermione had a suspicion what this was about, but ignored it.

When she sat down, he delicately put a parchment in front of her. She glanced down at it.

Professor Severus Snape

Good Qualities

Honesty

Brave

Intelligent

Tender, gentle--see potion brewing abilities

Determined

Creative

Patient (with potions)

Mysterious (I suppose it's good)

Caring

Good with words

Funny (albeit dryly and sarcastically)

Control over emotions (good with Occlumency)

Introspective

Lovely penmanship

Unfavourable Qualities

Capricious

Impatient (with students)

Holds grudges

Taunts

Favours (most professors do, however, but with Harry)

Mean

After a few second, Snape turned the paper around, and although she knew what it said (she had read it several times, after all, and added to it every chance she got) she read it again. She read about how Snape didn't have a good relationship with his father but seemed to adore his mother, she saw Gregarson's name circled, and she read over all the tidbits about him she had written down--that he liked to read, that his outlined his lips with his finger when deep in thought, but the sentence that her eyes kept getting drawn to was 'was/is? in love with Lily Potter née Evans.'

She wanted to die. She felt tears burning her eyes, and felt moisture drip down the side of her face.

Her heart nearly stopped when he placed the poem she had written for him.

_With eyes intense like the darkest coal_

_That easily stare into my soul_

_A silky voice that lives in my mind_

_And the most elegant hands a girl can find_

_You capture my senses in a profound way_

_Leaving me without a word to say_

_Whatever I feel when I'm with you_

_Is more than what the rest could do_

_--Prof. M. S. Gregarson_

"Who wrote this?" he asked quietly.

She looked into his eyes, and knew it was pointless to lie. He throat clogged up. It was over. Their stupid, horrible matchmaking scheme was over. It had been doomed to begin with, but now she was found out. She'd known it as soon as she'd seen Gregarson, but she had hoped she was wrong. "I did," she croaked.

He nodded jerkily, then snatched up both parchments, and shoved them in a drawer. His eyes remained on hers as he wordlessly took a parchment that Gregarson was handing him. He placed that in front of her, and without removing his eyes, asked; "And this?"

She couldn't talk. She wouldn't willingly bring Ginny into this, or anyone else. But when a image shimmered before her, an image of Ginny herself, laughing while she scribbled down on parchment, she knew it was too late--she knew Snape had performed Legilimency on her.

A cold, nauseating chill went down her spine as image after image spilled forth. And memory of Draco telling her how to get a note from Gregarson, so she could see her signature--Harry and Ron bending over a table with her while they wrote out their plan--Ginny and her discussing what Gregarson would like to hear in a letter--

The images stopped and she felt winded; violated. But she kept her mouth shut. Tears were spilling down her cheek silently, but she felt her jaw wobbling.

Snape's eyes never left hers, and she thought she saw them shimmering.

"Who wrote it, Hermione?" Gregarson demanded. Hermione tore her eyes from Snape's and looked into the azure eyes of her head of house. She didn't speak, just saw that Gregarson had tears falling down her face too. "Who did it? Who helped you write this?" she asked, her voice wavering.

"If Miss Granger indeed had help, she would never give away her accomplices," Snape revealed softly. "It is pointless to insist."

"This is outrageous, Hermione!" Gregarson shrieked shrilly, her suddenly loud voice, making her jump. "I would not have expected this from you! What game are you playing? What is this?" She grabbed the letter Ginny had written her, and shook it. "What is it?"

"I . . . I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean any harm," Hermione managed through her tears, trying to ignore how hurt Gregarson sounded.

"Well, you did! Who do you think you are? I, for one, am hurt, and astounded that you would--" Her voice broke off and more tears streamed down her face. Her free hand flew up to her face and covered her mouth. Hermione took in a shuddering breath when she realized that Gregarson was sobbing.

"Miss Gregarson, I--"

She removed her hand from her mouth to hold up a finger. "No. You don't get to talk. You have no idea what you did! This is _not_ acceptable, do you understand me? Not acceptable!"

Hermione didn't think she could feel any worse than she did at that moment. She had reduced a grown woman to tears. Granted, it wasn't someone she really liked, but that didn't matter. As much as Hermione hated to admit it, Gregarson was a good teacher, and whether or not Hermione liked her, she couldn't deny that, nor could she deny that she was sobbing because of what her and her friends did. She didn't know why it was affecting Gregarson as much as it was, but that was no excuse.

She tossed the note down on desk, it floating gracefully to the surface. "You have no idea what I did--what I felt--what I thought--and all for some sick, twisted, childish game!"

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone," Hermione insisted again.

"You are a child, Hermione! Do you think us idiots? Do you honestly think so little of me and him that we wouldn't figure it out? That you insipid little matchmaking scheme would work? Who the hell do you think you are to make these decisions for us?"

Gregarson broke into fresh sobs when Hermione didn't' answer.

"Fifty points, do you understand me? Fifty points from Gryffindor, and you can have detention with Severus, because I refuse to look at your face! As far as I'm concerned, if you're not in my class, then you're nobody! Don't speak to me outside of my classroom, do you understand me? Do you?"

"Y-Yes," Hermione stammered, choking back a sob.

"Nobody knows what you did, do you get me? You tell anyone what happened, and I will make sure you are expelled! I'm embarrassed enough as it is, I don't need the staff--" She broke off in a strangled cry and both of her hands flew up to her face, covering it for a brief second. "Do you understand?"

"O-Of course."

With that, Gregarson stormed off, leaving Snape's classroom by slamming the door so loudly it made Hermione jump.

The ringing silence hurt Hermione's ears. When she met Snape's eyes with her own, she quickly wiped away her swelling tears. Hermione had never felt as low had she had when Gregarson burst into tears. Without meaning to, she had made her professor cry.

She sniffled, and tried to ignore the look Snape was giving her. His eyes were misty, but his face was a shade of brick red.

"Why?" he asked after a long silence, his voice cutting.

She opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

"Of all the times to quit your incessant prattling, you choose now?" She lowered her head and stared at the hands she had twisting in her lap. "Look at me."

She looked back up at him, and his eyes held her gaze.

"Do you have any idea the damage you've caused? Gregarson was under the impression I--" Apparently he couldn't bear to say what Gregarson had thought, but his mouth clamped shut. "I accused her of sexual harassment. I said horrible, cruel things to her--things that should have been directed at you."

If at all possible, Hermione felt worse.

"You manipulative know-it-all. How dare you? How dare you interfere in my life? Who are you to decide how I should run it?" He spoke through clenched teeth. "I've spent years as nothing but a puppet--to Dumbledore, to the Dark Lord--and you take it upon yourself to meddle."

It was like he was stabbing her in the gut.

"I told you things," he managed through clenched teeth, and she thought she saw his eyes water. "Everything I told you, everything I said, was part of your pathetic, insipid little scheme to push me into the arms of a woman who shared her bed with Sirius Black!" He stood up suddenly, slamming his hands down on the table. "How dare you? I told you things I had never told anybody--things that were personal--things that were private--and you--and _you--"_

She looked downward again, sucking in shuddering breaths, ignoring how flecks of spit flew from his mouth.

"Look at me!" he demanded.

She forced herself to stare up into his eyes, intimidated by his towering frame. "Every moment spent with you, every moment in this classroom, served as some part in your meddlesome game!"

"Sir, I didn't mean--"

"You are nothing but a child," he seethed. "You are nothing here. You are _nobody._ When you leave these halls, nobody will think of you as anybody but a bushy-haired know-it-all, and I thought that perhaps they were wrong to--I thought perhaps you were more than another face, another irritating student, someone who deserved praise, and I was wrong. You are nothing more than a precocious little girl who thinks she can run everyone's life. Perhaps it is because you have no handle on your own that you feel you can meddle with mine."

Hermione froze. Every word stung. It was like being smacked repeatedly. She wanted to die. She wanted the floor to swallow her up. Every syllable rung true to her ears, and each words twisted the knife he'd plunged into her gut more.

"You disgust me. You _sicken_ me. You come in here, with the pretence of caring about my class, with the pretence of caring about this subject, all to get to know me. You pretended to care about what I told you--you slithered your way into my head, you forced me to trust you, you told me you _cared_ but you--"

"That's not what happened at all!" she promised loudly. "I really care about you, sir, that's why I did this in the first place! I wanted you to be happy!"

"Silence!" he spat and leaned down. "You are nothing more than a little girl playing pretend. A little girl with a magnifying glass burning ants to pass the time. You have no idea the damage you've inflicted upon Gregarson. You've no idea the damage you've inflicted upon me."

"I never wanted to hurt you," she said weakly, sniffling.

He walked around his desk and grabbed her elbow, hoisting her out of the chair. He started leading her to the door, and she willingly followed, ignoring how his fingers bit into her arm. "You will return here Saturday, at eight am, for your detention. I am taking an additional forty points from your house, ten points for each person involved, and when you return to Gryffindor tower, tell Draco he is to see me immediately."

He tossed her out of his room and she stumbled, but she didn't fall. She saw the look on his face when he stood in the doorframe, glaring at her.

She saw the tear that streaked down his face.

And when he slammed the door shut, she burst into tears.

* * *

A/N--First of all, I would like to apologize for making you all wait as long as you have for this update. Second of all, I have planned thsi chapter from the very beginning. Although Gregarson is a blatant Mary Sue, this was important to the story--her backstory, I mean, and I have wanted to post this chapter for a very long time, to show you her mind. Everything that has been said about her so far was from someone else's point of view, and now that you have her side, I think you will appreciate the story a little bit more. I hope, anyway.


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